3 Gotta teach 'em young

['If you're reading this... Congratulations, you're alive. If that's not something to smile about, then I don't know what is.' ~Chad Sugg]

A couple of years ago.

It was Summertime, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over Thomas's hometown. He could finally get out of the car and the fresh summer wind caressed his face as if nature were greeting him. Rarely Thomas felt so liberated and happy to be outside. "You can stretch right up and touch the sky; When the weather's right." The radio played. How right it was. It seemed like mother nature had something ready for everyone. If you want to tan on the bench, clear skies provide the best service. If the warmth was a shock, the countless trees along the road invited you to cool off in their shade. Long live the summer.

Like any kid his age, the young Thomas dashed off to play. "Mom, Dad I will go play with my friends!" He let his parents know. "Don't do anything stupid!" He heard his dad's fading voice. " And be careful!." His mom added. Words that no child in the world has ever taken to heart. "Sure!" His parents' concerns were not based solely on maternal and paternal instincts. They had just left the hospital. Thomas was the patient.

Thomas couldn't tell if his parents had gone into the house beforehand or if he was the first to leave their line of sight. As one of the two entrances, however, the joy gradually left its mark. His acting came to an end. It wasn't midsummer at all. It was autumn's turn. The enjoyment or excitement wasn't part of the act. Thomas had felt these emotions in reaction to his own lie and the real act. He had no friends. If you really want to believe a lie, you will be deceiving yourself.

They are known locally as propeller trees because their fruits bear wing-like leaves that loosen in autumn and circle to the ground like propellers. The courage to face the unknown. That's what these trees stood for. Was it brave of the leaves to follow their desire to fly? No, they couldn't control their desire to convince themselves they could do it. In the end, like everyone else, they landed on the cold ground of reality. That's how Thomas saw it.

In his free time, with no friends to play with, he walked around the streets, usually ending up at some point on the country road and going home when he thought that this would have been an appropriate playtime for a child with friends. He didn't want his parents to know that little Thomas had no real friends. That would cause worries. They would lead to arguments. Of course, Thomas would not have been included in the argument, but his parents would. Whose fault is it that your poor son has to suffer? Their usual topic. Did he hate that his parents quarreled? No. After so long, he got used to it, knowing that no matter how difficult the argument was, time would eventually resolve their disputes. Thomas hated that he had to worry about reconciliation. In the end, he had to be the mediator for the disputed sides.

This time he ended, on his way to the forest road, at the local playground. With hope in his eyes that he might be able to join, he watched the other children play ball. Luck seemed to be on his side. The ball rolled in front of his feet. "Can you play us the ball? Asked one of the children. Before Thomas could ask if he instead could join, another child seemed to recognize him. "Pssh don't you know who that is?" "No, who? "The boy with the disease. Forget the ball, we might get infected if we touch it! We must run before it catches us!" Thomas hadn't even touched the ball yet. "We shouldn't get close to him." Said another kid. The ball was quite expensive and brand new. It made the owner doubt their statements. "But this is the official World Cup ball." "If you ask your father he'll buy you a new one!" "We can play with something else." Another child said. "Let's get out of here as soon as possible!"

An old man's voice suddenly broke through her arguments. "You Idiots! He hasn't this kind of disease! It's neither contagious nor is it physical!" None of the children interrupted their conversation. Thus, they all ran away without paying the man even a spark of attention. Thomas just wanted some friends. Maybe it was impossible for him to find any. Maybe he was meant to be alone. "Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be." The old man gave him a push on the back with a movement as if he wanted to give his last bit of energy to Thomas and then set off. His name was Shel Silverstein, but Thomas called him uncle Shelby. Thomas's neighbor and the person who came closest to a friend.

Not much time had passed, thus forcing Thomas to wander around. Every thought, every glimmer of hope that it would be different this time had left him when he left the playground. He just thought what his dear mother would conjure up this time on the table. Hopefully, he can return soon. Don't get it wrong. He was not accompanied by anger, or sadness, or loneliness, but comfort. The familiar and routine do not shudder a soul.

Ultimately, he came closer and closer to the point of repentance. The place where the city merges into the forest. His foot pointed home again when he suddenly heard screeching tires, a dull sound, and glass being shattered. A car sped out of the woods past Thomas by a hair's breadth. A premonition solidified; Someone was hurt. Was it instinctive or was it the hope that his help may end in friendship?

Don't be hurt.

His eyes watered from the thought of someone dying. Or maybe that was just the wind since his feet were carrying him fast.

He will be alright.

Every bliss left his body when he stopped. As if it had never stopped running. A brown cat lied on the road, motionless. The cat had fallen from the tree onto the windshield of the speeding car, then crashed onto the ground. Each of his small, thin hairs pointed in a different direction, reflecting the disorder that was inside him. Thomas began to make himself noticeable. Go notice me Jump on your paws and run away from me, start meowing or hissing. Leave me alone.

The cat remained motionless.

Not even his little pointy ears reached out to Thomas. Hear, he couldn't do anymore. His pointy ears, with all these fine hairs, only used as a vessel for the escaping blood. "Just once lift up your head, please." His words had no use. His fur was already soaked by the blood. The sharp, mighty teeth, which he used to hunt, eat but also to play, had borne various holes in his mouth. Last taste he had was metallic. He squeezed his little eyes so tight that no tear of pain could escape. Maybe the light he was approaching seemed too bright.

Thomas's dad's words came to mind. ("The moment we accept our pain is the moment we release our suffering. Suffering is created when we offer life resistance.") His Hand gripped a sharp shard of glass tightly. Many times he's finger cut itself while holding. He couldn't stop the trembling. "I will end your suffering buddy." Every draft he took settled like a stone. There was no longer any real movement with him. His body dragged itself through. Pulled by his conscience. Every second only prolonged the suffering. A last growl replied his approaching. Don't hesitate. Thomas grabbed his mane so tightly the soaked blood leaked and placed the claw of his paw on his neck. Simultaneously the lion and Thomas stopped their breathing. One for only a pair of seconds; The other one for good. The throat was more ripped open than cut. To make it as quick and painless as possible in his mind, he had used too much force without knowing it. Guts flooded his feet. Thomas's eyes resembled the last impression the lion had. Emptiness. His hands were red again. Like back then.

A scornful clap dragged Thomas out of the action. "Congratulations. With this, you have defeated your first monster. Even a legendary one. The mighty Nemean Lion it is. Remarkable. Truly astonishing." Godfather said.

"Now Eat him."

FIn.