Words Of a Feather

It was a dark, stormy afternoon

The child marched through the damp grass with smells of mildew

The child’s boots were so muddy, one could no longer identify the red

The child’s umbrella was as wet as a towel

The rain washing down on the raincoat like the child’s tears

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The child dragged a red wagon, the only identifiable part of the scene

It was bent, rusted, and had drawings all over it

Drawings reminiscing the long, dog days of summer

Drawings that recalled the first day of school and the warm colored leaves that followed it

Drawings that had to be left behind

And the crayons used to draw them

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The wagon was full of toys,

Toys that fought in wars

Toys that explored the bathroom as an outer space adventure

Toys that got scribbled on to the point of being unrecognizable

Toys that were given as a reward and taken as a punishment

Tiny clothes worn every day with cheesy sayings

Tiny sketchers or Paw Patrol themed shoes

Tiny, mismatched outfits stained with ketchup and mustard

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The rain and the tears turned into one as the child reached the graveyard

Time was ticking as they grew closer to the grave

One by one, each item was thrown into a ditch

Muddled by dirt

That wasn’t dirty at all, but clean and dry

As each toy, each cloth, each material went into the grave, the child’s heart died a little more

The child died a little more until the final doll was thrown in

The child held onto the doll as if it was a real person

The doll’s life had to expire

The doll’s connection with the child had to expire

Everyone else’s deepest relationships have

The child eventually let go of the plastic and felt it quietly slip away

Those soulless eyes, luscious locks of hair, and perfectly-tailored clothes would forever rot

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Alright, I’m done playing pretend

I threw some toys into a cardboard box for the basement

It’s not like anyone actually died

And stop calling me a child