The Boy without a face
Once upon a time far, far in the woods lived a lonely boy. He had no friends, and no family. Every night an angel would come and give him a new toy in exchange that he may never leave the woods. Oh so lovingly would she sing the child to sleep.
One fine day, when the sky was blue and the birds merry, the boy wandered where he shouldn’t wander. He thought what he shouldn’t have been thinking. He raised his weary brow and looked up at the walls he was now reached. Wailing in vain he grabbed his face and began to weep.
“Come now, you must not cry. Your future is with me. The world is a terror. Come with me. I will protect you.” The voice was that of the angel who came from the skies. She led the sad child back toward the trees.
That night the boy awoke after the angel had left. He was full of ideas an soon he would try them out. He took a shovel and a few berries and went on his way. As quietly as he could he walked on dry leaves. Through the murky swamps and past the willows, that cast shadows of evil demons coming to grab who ever woke them from their shallow slumber.
The child was very frightened and shivered with fear and guilt for never before had he deceived the Angel who loved him. He walked on with every ounce of courage he had in his small frail body. Lady fortune had abandoned the poor boy this night for he had fallen into the pool of floating dreams. At the bottom of the pool waiting for him was Mr. Puffing Blow Fish of destiny.
The little boy swam across to near the fish and asked
Fish oh fish
Nether I have been,
To see the world beyond,
Of this I am keen.
Tired and lonely
I am scared and tiny
Please help me.
The fish gave him a grain of rice and said, “This grain will give you all the food you need for your journey ahead.” The child was confused but took the grain anyway. As he swam away he thought about what was to come. Struggling out of the pond he began to move ahead on all fours with haste. But that was not to be, because he was very tired.
The grain of rice fell out of his hands and onto the ground of creepers and thorns. And the child bled from the hands and face, as he frantically looked for it. Finally the wretched grain was found and all felt well again.
On his way almost reaching the wall the boy fell and decided to lay there for an hour or two. When time came to move on he was too tired to dig. His little hands could barely lift the shovel. But he picked it up and hit the wall thrice before falling to the ground.
“Who goes there?” enquired three voices in unison. “It is I. Tim. Please let me pass.” The walls shudder and slowly, the ground shaking, move away to reveal a beautiful path ahead. And with the eager most first step, the boy moved onto the path full of purple roses. And as he walked ahead, he heard a beautiful voice calling his name. It wasn’t that of the angel, but of someone else, someone younger and very near. As he opened his eyes he was no longer on the path with purple flowers anymore. He woke up to be the commanding officer of a unit posted in Burma.
Her name was Rose, and she was beautiful. Just like his mother. “Tim! Look here! Look at me!”
After which the entire building blew up and neither of them survived, except a photograph in Tim’s pocket of his mother, him and his tenth birthday gift, a goldfish.