|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Unanswered DesiresThe powerful scream that passed from his lungs could be heard down he block, and neighbors lifted their chins silently, casting nothing but prayers that it wasn't a scream of pain. They're prayers were right, for once. Though tortured, the screaming had no relations with physical harm.
Alone, writhing, he threaded his fingers into the sheets of the bed beneath him, his arms straining and his veins bulging until the thin fabric cried out and gave way. Even then, he couldn't stop himself.
The pause he made was only to suck in air. His cheeks were flushed with his efforts. And when he howled for the second time, they reddened further.
He gave up when he became lightheaded. Collapsing the rest of the way down, slumping into his pillow, he was silent. The long white strands of his dyed hair screened his face. Some stuck to his face where tears had left sodden trails. Labored panting made his back rise and fall.
The newly formed silence buzzed like an insect in his ears. His screaming played
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
Keep in Touch!