THE SHAPE OF AIMS

*1*

Three boys panted, remedied for wet cough. Their mouth spat out the thick mucus into the irrigation water.

Satria wiped the sweat off his forehead. Fajar looked always laughed because he's a type of joyful boy while those small hands rubbed his sweaty eyelids, and Joko still coughed into his fist.

All of them had just ended the war of throwing balls made of dirt clods in the rice field when the harvest season had arrived a week ago. Fajar got a sucker-punch by Satria on his forehead. He had to clean it right away as their foot in the water. Fajar was the only one so agile, but the bad luck was running over himself because Satria and Joko had just hit at the back, chest, thighs, or legs. It was like playing a game of cat and mouse with someone to get Fajar's headshot for the two of his friend. So move to fill the time on holiday.

"You threw that so wicked, Sat. My eyes got dirt." Fajar grumbled, sighing and then giggling again.

"Let me say that the avenge to wreak! Haha." Satria guffawed satisfyingly. Fajar was morose, the corner of his mouth slumped.

"The prospective soldier like me must be good at shooting!" said Satria. He smirked as his elbow stuck into Fajar's right lumbar.

"You were throwing, not shooting."

"Think of it as shooting. One day for the next ten years, I would hold the real rifle," said Satria, acting as a shooter with fingers like a gun.

"Yes, you're right. You make it to be a soldier, line officer, general, or anything might have related to the military," said Joko. "You have to maintain your short hair, and the body is much taller than any children like us. I bet you achieve that dream."

"Yep. You are definitely to be taller and taller again. And one day, I would mock you, bald man, because of that short hair. Hahaha," Fajar taunted.

Satria grunted, his forehead scrunched up at once, and his lips curled down as if it hadn't got sick staring at mud underwater.

"Do all of you two have not any hope for the future?" asked Satria, his neck alternately turned to the left and right quickly at the two friends who flanked him.

"Er, I have a goal too, actually," answered Fajar in a dubious tone.

"What is that?"

"Er, police."

"Are you not kidding me, aren't you?" Satria's eyes were all together wide open. "Ha ha ha ha."

Fajar withered and concealed his shyness with the head slightly tilted down now.

"You said that you were teasing me if my hair would have been like the military staff thin short hair. What is the difference with the hairstyle's rule in a police institution?" Satria loathed. "Same as the soldier."

Fajar was blue, then swiftly got rid of some tiny moths flying the rice fields around in Kumbang village that had crowded around. He did not hesitate for a second to put off his yellow shirt. At the same time wagged his hand over and over and kept cooler heat.

"Jok, what about you?" asked Satria while his eyes dipped into Joko's face, who kept his head down.

"I don't start to wonder. I went through my life as just it is," said Joko with a flat voice as he still made contact with the reflection in the water.

"Why?" His eyebrows hemmed by Joko's irrational reason.

"My father is just a farmer," he said that like feeling downcast.

"Then, what's a matter? My mother and father are farmworkers, as well as Fajar's parents." He was as painful as being stung. Neck turned to the front, his foot pulled out of the water, and stood on the embankment he sat on.

"Nobody had any controls over what we are craving for. No one can break your aspiration. The teachers said we all have the same right to catch our dreams up. We have to build the belief as our navigation and be passionate till we achieve that!" shrieked Satria.

"We never are subdued!" he seemed like a burst into flames.

Satria looked like a warrior with his fist pointing toward the great hill that extended hundreds of kilometers from where he now stood up. He fell on his buttock and sat down again with Fajar and Joko after their head did not fatigue to glance up. They seemed enchanted and amazed at his enactment. Both of his friend's eyes were still stalking himself dredged the moist dirt clods in the size of a fist. And Satria gave that to each of them. He then dredged for himself at last.

"I say to the two of you. We have been molding some variants of animal forms, or sophisticated vehicles that we looked on TV with the clods we are grasping," said Satria. He was still overwhelmed with extraordinary persistence.

"I want you and me to keep this, and then shape it with what kind of job you are in for the next up to fifteen years since now. I want all of us to be successful people!"

Satria stretched his hand forward with the clasped hand. Fajar didn't want Satria to do it by himself, and he stretched out his hand too. Both of them looked at Joko that was in doubts sparking out by his face. But in the end, Joko nodded as he fast breathed out.

Their hands were like an isosceles triangle. And a blue sky would be happy to behold that triangle of wants indeed.