A thing I wrote a while back

thusfar, I have dedicated this page to strictly poetry. I understand that the free writing assignments are just that-- an opportunity to post anything that I have written, but I have been interested in making myself write poetry. I wish to post something that I once wrote. A piece of prose. It is one of my favorites and I mentioned it in class, though I got the name wrong. Twirl is what I called it, but Twirl is not what it is called. Twirl was the first story I used the single word method with. This is called seagulls and it is sad, so I present to you:

Seagulls

By: David Mathis

His name was Aden. He was a wiry kid of about seven. He came up to my chest, but he was stronger than I at the time. I remember seeing him run across the fields in a wild fury almost like a beast child. The wind would blow so hard that his hair would waver in the wind like a banner as the flower petals danced around him and I thought he had the world in his hands. The livelihood that I found in his eyes could spark wildfires and his imagination flowed like the mightiest river. I liked to chase him as he ran sometimes, but I never could keep up with him. He was always just a step ahead of me. It was quiet where we were, overlooking the sea with our grassy fields, rocks crumbled and scattered beneath our high ground. On stormy nights, the lighthouse was the only landmark visible and I would lay there wondering where Aden was and if he was safe. I would always find him the next day with ideas that giant krakens were in the puddles. I wasn’t allowed to step in any of them myself. He had a pair of big rubber boots that came up to his thighs that he would awkwardly stumble around in for the few days after, never complaining about the wet air being ragged breathing material. One day though, I arose to see him splashing in the waters of the sea. Running out, I found him far out at sea, paddling. I called to him, but he didn’t listen to me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Aden now. This place gets lonely sometimes. Storms aren’t any more frequent, but without him around to worry about, I find I worry about myself a lot more. The sea salt stings more than it used to when it gets in my eyes. I can’t decide if it really stings more or if the tears always linger in my eyes. A few months ago, the lighthouse stopped working and I wonder if anyone even knows that it stands here still. It’s a silent observer now, no longer showing mighty ships the way and I wonder if it parallels my life with no direction. I sometimes wonder about Aden on days like today. Sunny ones that used to make my soul glow and the butterflies erupt out of bushes in great, flitting swarms as the honeysuckle plants sang sweet melodies. They don’t do it so much anymore and I think maybe his heart was more infectious than I thought. Someday though, I think he might be back. Someday, I suspect we may meet again if not on this earth.