When Happy Endings Were Too Hard
The door opens.
Footsteps echo down the corridor.
That booming voice, those eyes – seething with contempt. The air, violently seized by a cloud of hostility.
The little boy was all smiles and innocence. His eyes gain years within seconds. He cringes, waits for the whiplash that isn’t coming.
Silence. No words spoken. No quips exchanged.
Eyes meet and hastily part ways, afraid to linger.
Pompous strides, two seconds of emptiness and then a sigh of relief.
The boy looks at his sketchpad – a portrait of a happy family gazes back animatedly at him.
The crude crayon strokes hold a distant dream. A castle in the air. Floating on its puffy white cloud.
He rips the sheet out and crumples it.