Well meaning intent can be harmful. (A writing exercise with object personification, originally written 2019.)
The little one’s father had left to investigate the sound he heard but had not returned because the creature killed him, leaving the little one to fend for himself. Only a little boy of about six years old, the two of them were on a father-son camping trip in my home. I was honored to host them there, under the canopy of cypress trees and great big hundred year old oaks.
The skies were turning pink and soon the stars would come out, but they couldn’t be seen through the thick ceiling of leaves. In March, the spring time air was still somewhat crisp, but tonight there was a cold snap, and the little boy’s dad had reawakened me from my slumber. He’d fed me till I was big enough to help cook their foil dinner, but the father had been gone about an hour now and I was starting to peter out. I knew the boy was growing cold, even though I could tell that the food was done and ready to eat. The juices had leaked out of the package and sizzled in my fingers, and I popped and snapped as I smelled the garlicky aromas rise with my smoke.
I saw the child shiver and pull his blanket around him tighter, sitting in the camp chair, looking around him every few minutes. His eyes were growing wider as the tree shadows grew longer. The wind was picking up and whistled through the branches, creaking high in the lofts, rushing down to me and blowing my hair. Some of the dead wood landed on top of me, and I gobbled it up, grateful for the fuel that made hair stand up higher.
The boy pulled up his legs on the chair and tucked his head under the blanket like turtle pulling into his shell. I knew he was growing colder and more frightened, and I reached out for him, wanting to reassure him. My hand wouldn’t reach that far but I tried again. With the held of the next rush of wind, I was able to stretch at least to the brush near his chair. I grabbed a hold of it and spread myself closer. If he was going to survive the night, I would need to help keep him warm, encircle him with my heat.
The little boy screamed and jumped up, frightened of me. I was only trying to keep him warm and put my hand on his blanket, now that I had been able to draw myself up near him. He screamed and jumped up to run, but I knew if he left the circle of my light, he would be lost and the creatures of the forest would eat him. I reached for him and crooned a lullaby, hoping he would let me embrace him. But he ran, even though I’d already grabbed him. He was struggling so, but he was young and didn’t know the dangers outside my warmth and light.
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