VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When a Kidnapping Happened

As a child, my Mother loved to tell me bed time stories. Most of which were about children who went on the most amazing adventures, escaping villains and criminals alike. She never told fairy tales in the traditional sense, something I loved.

    Over time, I learned of the traditional stories. Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood, and Snow White. Lovely, but not homey. They felt more foreign than fables ought to.

    As I lean over Max, the first thing I notice is that he could very possibly give Snow White a run for her money. Pale skin, a sickly white, and in a deep sleep. Robert says he slept through the cold air of this morning, not even stirring.

    It seems that the frost had woken most of the boys, and they were frustrated to lose out on the few precious hours of sleep they had. Most had gone back to bed, once they had warmed up. It's well into midday, but only a few boys are awake now. The lunch table was completely empty.

    Sweat is beaded across Max's forehead, a crown of illness.

    He wears a thin blue shirt, and has a soft yellow blanket draped across him. Even the colours he wears remind me of Snow White. The only difference between the two is his brown hair, very different from the black hair of Snow White, and his lips. Lips as red as blood; that's how the story described those of the princess. His lips are a pale purple, and are peeling beyond believe.

    He looks like he's dying.

    "He'll be alright." Robert assures me.

    He kneels next to me, facing behind me. On the cot behind us, there's another boy. One of the guards who karted of Dominique and the other boys that fought us. Robert drapes a cloth across his forehead, to cool him down.

    There are still so many people here who I don't know the names of. The guard included.

    "You should've seen Max last night." He tells me. "Wouldn't stop vomiting. He's got a fever, so his body is killing off the infection."

    Nodding, I pick up a cloth, carefully wiping it across Max's forehead. He's so sick, and I'm frustrated I can't help him. It's not like I can jump into battle and hurt his opponent. Only his body can safe him. I feel helpless.

    The tent doors flap together and I look up, watching Harry walk in. He squats down next to me, looking over Max's body.

    "He came with you, didn't he?" Harry asks. "His name is Max, right?"

    I nod.

    "Do you know him well?"

    I shrug, unsure of my answer. I wish I knew him better. "Well enough I guess. I don't see the poor kid around all that much. He spends a lot of time with Thomas."

    Harry nods, grinning slightly. "He tells me the stuff Thomas says. He's very nice, and he tried to beat up Gregory, which I respect. Don't worry, we've had food poisoning before. Give him another day."

    "It's mostly been vomited out of his system anyway." Robert adds in.

    Harry nods, standing up. Gesturing for me to follow him, he leaves the tent.

    I drop the rag down, trailing after Harry. He continues to walk, into the forest, completely off a trail. A direction I've never headed. I follow him, struggling through the tall brush, moving around vines and bushes. Eventually he turns to me.

    He looks me up and down, biting his lip.

    Even for Harry he's beating around the bush. The boy has never liked to tell me hard truths, but I can hear his thoughts in his breaths. They fill the air, but I wish he'd fill it with words. Why did he need to drag me out of the med tent?