timeless

in my head

- So... -

- Are you going to tell me the story tomorrow? - the little boy asks quietly.

The other looks at his eyes.

He can't help but be attracted to them. And once he enters those blue oceans, there's no escape.

Is he really ready to ruin him?

He shakes his head, after all he's just a fox.

He shouldn't ask questions.

- It's a long one. Are you sure you won't get tired of listening? -

The little one suddendly becomes serious.

Without his smile he seems older, sad.

- I will never, ever, get tired of you -

And the fox is surprised, because that little boy isn't lying.

He trusts the fox.

Trust. That's the forgotten feeling he is looking for.

His job is finding those who are innocent, pure.

Weak.

And then slowly destroy them.

He's going to kill that little boy too.

But not that day, he should wait a little more. Just to avoid being exposed.

And looking at the other, now struggling to order some papers, the fox just feels relaxed.

There's no way that little one could suspect anything.

- There's a boy. His eyes are the darkest shade of green. The colour of the deepest forest - he starts to explain, not letting any emotion show through his voice.

It's raspy, scathing but smoothed by the presence of the other.

- He has black hair. They're short and look like a crow's feathers -

And the other draws. He frenetically moves the white pencil, sometimes peeking at the fox.

The little boy looks at his paper, biting his lips. He's unsure.

- Can I see it? -

The boy nods, showing the work of his efforts.

As the older thought, the paper is comletely blank.

- There's nothing - he says.

And the boy seems confused. Can't he seriously understand?

The other grumbles.

- I'm sorry - the little one whispers. A sad light covers the brightness of his eyes.

And the fox almost fears that he's already been unmasked.

No way, he's good at acting. The best.

- You could have used a black pencil - he simply suggests.

The little one stares at him for a moment. He tries to catch all the thoughts whirling in his ruffled head.

- Oh, but then the boy would have been black too. And I've always been thaught to fear shadows - he sighed.

- Still, the night sky is so beautiful before stars rise... -

The boy lowers his head. His gaze becomes melancholy, liquid and he hides behind his bangs.

For the second time, the fox doesn't know what to say to those sad eyes.

It's hard to look at his face, now lost in broken memories.

Helplessness is something he hates.

- Then where have you drawn him? He's not in your papers - he asks, while the words stumble one on another.

Everything stops for a second, but maybe it's just the fox imagining it.

- Here - he points at his head, the little boy. He hasn't raised his eyes yet.

- The boy is here, with his beautiful eyes and dark hair... -

- He's safe this way - he whispers, as if telling a secret.

And the fox holds his breath, because the croocked bangs is now lifted and those eyes are blue.

A terribly deep blue.

And they look at him with their overwhelming beauty.

They undress the fox of all the lies he hides beneath himself. And it's like breathing again after a life spent drowning.

His entire self, for the longest moment, sways.

No, the boy of his story isn't safe. No one is. And the fox knows it too well.

Still, the only thing he wants is keeping safe a little boy that is too fragile for the world.