Michael knew that this was bad. Very, very bad. So bad that it could possibly end all of mankind. Alright, maybe not that bad but still incredibly bad. Why? What was this thing? This thing was his little brother, Bennie. Bennie could die. Michael did not want Bennie to die.
Well, who would want Bennie to die? He was one of those super sweet, super cute, super nice kids that always looked neat and smelled good and wanted to help out. When a cat was stuck up a tree in the school yard, Bennie went and fetched it down. Whilst climbing the tree, Bennie got the cat, let it down gently then snapped the branch and broke his arm. All to save the little cat.
He was a perfect little boy that if you tasted, you’d imagine him tasting of gumdrops, lollipops and kindness. What does kindness taste of though? Easy. Kindness tastes of Bennie.
So when Bennie was told he could die, it wasn’t a very good effect. His mother broke down into sobbing tears, his dad went into a dejected silence and Michael ran off. He ran and ran and ran.
Michael liked running. Running seemed to make everything better. He loved the adrenaline rush, the movement of his muscles pumping fast, the way it felt to hear his feet pound and hit the earth hard. Somehow, in a strangely relaxing way, running helped Michael with anything and everything. All Michael did was run away from his problems. If he ran away, and didn’t come back for a while, the problem might be sorted. The only issue was, Michael very rarely came back.
Slowing, Michael leant again a stray tree, alone and bare in the dusty surroundings. It was like a stick, thin and gangly, with a few sparse branches sticking out. Trying to steady his heavy breathing, he kept trying to shove out the thought. He could not listen to the thought.
Yet, he did. The thought bounced around in his mind, like a hyper kid who had eaten too many rich chocolate bars and drank too much bubbly fizzy drink.
You have to go back.
The only thing that stopped him every few minutes, was this thought. It bugged him, constantly persisting, never leaving his mind. This thought had developed seconds into running from Bennie. From his mother, from his father. From his family.
You see, Michael knew very well he had to go back. How could he let his little brother suffer in un-fair silence? It wasn’t right. How could he let his poor mother and father, wrecked with shivering anxiety, be alone? Now they had one son on the verge of death, and the other running off.
He began running again. Moving his arms, moving his legs, moving his mouth to form little ‘o’ shapes. To breathe in and out, in and out. But as he ran, he slowed. Then he stopped. He couldn’t do this.
Turning around, Michael knew what he had to do. He had to go back. The thought was one hundred percent right and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. Shifting a stretched smile onto his face, he began to run.
Run. Run. Run. Slow. Slow. Stop.
No. This isn’t good. This was bad. Very, very bad. So bad that it could possibly end all of mankind. Alright, maybe not that bad but still incredibly bad. Why? What was this thing? This thing was that Michael was well and truly lost.