A boy came before the man with light steps.
"Oji-san, oji-san, are you ok?" he asked, his voice mellow. "Is there something that hurt you?" His eyes sparkled under the faint light that still lit the sky.
The man tried to rise, but his legs caved in. Before he could have fallen back, the boy grabbed him, catching his fall as they both slammed to the ground. The boy quickly picked himself up, brushing the dirt off his shorts with a couple of quick swoops. The man was less fortunate. He had landed in a small puddle. His long, dark pants were dirtied with mud. Though, he had no intention of cleaning them up as the boy did.
"What happened to you?" he asked, urgency rising in his voice.
As the boy helped him stand, his eyes darted. The boy's eyes showed so much whiteness that they looked as though his irises disappeared inside them.
"What is that!?" he shouted. "Who did this to you? Show me, and I'm gonna punch them in the face."
The man turned his face towards the boy, hiding his hands behind his back.
"Then punch me."
The boy gasped and asked, "What do you mean… ?"
The man replied without delay. "I was the one who did this to me," he told him.
He? The man would hurt himself? Why?
The boy was too young to understand what the man was going through—such thoughts would be the thoughts of any irresponsible person who could never understand the mind of a child. They would treat them like how an owner would explain things to a pet. Dumbing down every sentence while talking to them at a high, excruciatingly slow pace. Similar to what the man tried to do.
The boy looked at him, turning his neck slowly.
"No, that's… impossible." He couldn't understand.
Then, after a little time, he asked, "Why would anyone do that?"
"Why not?" the man replied flatly.
The boy stood in thought for some time, eventually following up by saying in high spirits, "Oh, I get it!" he said, his eyes sparkling under the dim sky. "Whoever you are hiding from, I will protect you from them," he said in a reassuring tone as he flexed his absent biceps.
The man parted his lips; no words came. His face turned, trying to look away.
Why can't you understand? You can't do a thing, so just get lost! You are nothing more than a stupid kid!
Just then, his heart started to ache in ways he never felt before.
He put his hand on his hoodie, twisting the black cotton. From the pressure in his chest, he dropped to his knees. It was so loud that the sound of bones plummeting on concrete rang in both of their ears.
The boy rushed to him.
"What are you doing!?" he shouted. "Why did you do that? You are going to end up hurting yourself."
His hand extended toward the man. The man glanced at the boy's hand. Raising his hand, their hands almost touched…
Then, the man pushed it away.
"I don't care," he said, hair covering his face. "Hurt my body. Hurt my soul; it's all over, anyway."
As the boy stood beside the man, a light tremor rushed through his fingertips. His hands squeezed, arms straightened, reaching for the back of the man's head. Grabbing it, his kneecap accelerated and crushed into his nose, cracking the bridge as he got pushed to his back.
"Aaagh," he shouted, grabbing his nose. "What was this for!? You broke it!"
The boy hovered over him.
"You said that it doesn't matter."
"Huh?"
Blood spilled through the gaps between his fingers.
"Are you insane? Even if I said that, that doesn't mean I was asking for it."
The man paused.
His hands still covering his nose, blood dripped below his clothes. Taking his hand away, he raised his head, looking almost into the boy's eyes.
"If someone tells you they wouldn't mind dying, would you push them off a bridge?"
The man knew a mere kid would have trouble answering such a loaded question; he even prepared to rise to his feet and silently walk away from there. One of his hands had already curled into a fist and was about to press against the wet dirt, but before his hand could even make a fist, the boy answered.
"No, I wouldn't."
Hearing the boy's answer made him confused. He had no remorse in kicking someone who had no intention of getting hurt by a random statement he made, and yet he would not grant a wish of a dying soul? Someone who has had enough of all the pain life gave them, and all they want now is a way to go out peacefully; he has a problem with that?
Blood dripping from the man's hand, he looked at the boy's legs.
"What with that twisted logic—"
"If someone wished for death, I would not grant that. Because how would I prove that they were wrong if they can no longer see it?"
The boy gave a surprisingly mature answer for his age.
He continued. "Unlike with stupid-ass people like you, who can still be corrected by showing how wrong they are for saying any of that."
The man, after listening to what the boy said, turned, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
"How old are you?"
His face lifted from the ground, watching the lower part of the boy's jaw. And this time around, he wasn't intending to provoke anyone with that question; rather, he was being genuine.
"Does it matter?" said the boy, dodging the question." In your eyes, I'm nothing more than a dumbass kid."
How did he—No. It's not hard to see how. Kids like him are never taken seriously; even after speaking the truth that no adult can see, they are still treated the same way as any other: just a random kid, knowing nothing of reality.
The man understood that more than anyone.
"Sorry, I… I shouldn't have asked that," he said, observing the rain falling to the ground before him.
"No, it's my apology."
"What for?" asked the man in a low voice, his head low.
"Because I made you bleed."
The boy had a point. Though, it's not like saying something can undo the damage he caused. He knew that. Even so, he didn't want the man to lose the war against himself.
"It might not look like it, but I know that kind of pain," said the boy.
"What pain?"
"The one you have right now."
The boy paused before continuing. "I saw you from a distance. I thought that if I smiled at you, you might think differently."
"What you mean?" asked the man, still not attempting to look at the boy's face.
"Dad used to tell me to smile even when it hurts—though I'm paraphrasing him right now—but the point of what he tried to tell me was that it will always hurt. And if that's the case, I might as well spread love rather than inflict more pain on those who have already drowned in it."
The man's heart beat inside his chest. He put his hand on the ground next to him and made an effort to rise from the ground.
"What did you endure?" he asked, looking the boy in the eye with narrowed eyes, his eyebrows almost rising.
That wasn't like him. Asking all those things. He acted as though he had become someone else—though, maybe that's not the case. Maybe a part of him he hadn't seen for a long time just came back.
"Do you need to ask?" The boy inhaled, then pushed it out. "The same as you did."
"That's…"
"The only difference between you and me is that you gave up while I'm still hanging onto one of the branches."
The boy chose to fight. No matter how bad things would get, he had decided to never give up. He will fight as long as his body lets him. As long as he can endure the pain of holding onto that branch, nothing is impossible; those were the beliefs of that young boy. Was he wrong? Holding onto the last thing just to keep himself above the ground. Was that really the right thing to do? But what else could he have done? What else was there for him than to grip onto the last thing he could still reach…
Nothing. There was nothing.
The same as the man. Just like the boy, there was nothing there. Nothing at all…
But if that's the case, why did the boy never give up? Was it only a difference in age and experience? He could still hold himself up because he still had a naïve view of the world—No. He might have been naïve, but he was never foolish enough to think that things would get better without any of the bad returning.
Then… why?
Why did the boy never let go of the possibility of change? They were two entirely different people after all, but that alone wouldn't explain why one of them kept believing in the impossible while the other let go of it.
The man looked deep inside the boy's greenish eyes.
"What's the point? It's over. Everything—"
He paused.
Could that little boy have never heard about the end?That's why he was relaxed? If so, he didn't want him to know it. Just before, he had broken her heart; he won't do the same with him, too.