fictober 2017peanutspread
12 — ball
  • My mother used to leave me at the ball house near her office between working time.

    I enjoyed being there, playing with other kids and sneakily sleep among elastic balls. Sometimes we teased out caretakers too.

    I was designated as a leader of this little youngster's ball house gang. Maybe it's because I was the most sassy of them all. Most children will do as I said without talking back—except one.

    He was the new kid (the newest kid before him had been here for nearly two weeks), his mother dropped him here for the same reason as every one of us too. We were too young for school but old enough to be here without crying for parents.

    It was like someone up there send him to counter-balance my ruling, like an opposition of a government.

    He liked to argue with me. Even worse was that he was n the only kid to bully me (no, it's not this bully in our adult world where it seems so violent, but it's a big deal for a kid that age).

    I don't like to lose my control over things. I complained to my mom that I don't want to go there anymore, of course she didn't give it any thought. It's just my little whiny moment for her. So I had to make do with it.

    The last time I visited the ball house before we moved was something  I could never forget.

    We played superheroes (I bet almost everyone ever played it when you are younger). I wanted to leave with impression in every kids' memory, so I tried to jump from the terrace of imitative house—at that time I thought it was very challenging.

    But someone pushed me. No need to search for a culprit—it was him.

    My head hit the hard edge of a hard border that divide a ball house and outside. The result of it was a scar on my cheek. That's why it will be imprinted in my mind forever.

    I think he felt guilty, but I was too angry to accept his apology. And the next day we moved, saying goodbye for that city.



    Now I'm back at this town, memories flash before my eyes. I wonder if he's still here. It's not like I want to meet him. I think I won't know what to do if we meet.

    I'm walking in the park when a ball rolled to my feet. I pick it up and look around.

    'Can you pass the ball this way please?'

    I turn to the sound and see him, that boy in the past.

    He looks the same, just older and taller, he seems to gain some muscles too.

    I can see the recognition in his eyes, that means he still can't forget what he did too. I threw the round shaped thing in my hand with all my strength, aiming for his head.

    'Ouch!'

    Bingo!

    'Is that mean you forgive me? You have your revenge already.'

    'Nope, my scar won't heal completely.'

    'I carry this guilt on my back for all this time. I know how serious my wrongdoing is. So tell me what you want me to do.'

    'Give me your number. I'll call when I can think of anything.'

    I'm not that wicked to the extent of unforgiveness. It's been long enough.


    note: header picture is from tumblr
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