disclaimer: not mine ;-;

LAST TIME HE CRIED

The last time he cried, there was no one there. He lay on the hard ground, feeling pebbles dig into his palms and knees, and couldn't find the strength to move. Slowly, slowly, tears formed and dripped onto the packed earth, the teardrops barely visible in the late afternoon sunlight.

Anyone looking at him would see nothing unusual, a young boy crying because he tripped. Anyone looking at him, anyone who didn't know, would think that his parents, or maybe a little friend, would be coming up the hill any second, to make his world right again, to dry his tears and brush off the dirt and pebbles.

However, those who knew would know—though they'd never think about it—that no one would come to him. That he was alone, and that that was the real reason he cried. Not because of scraped hands and bruised knees, but because there was no one there to make them better.

So, he knelt there, like an animal, on his hands and knees, and cried and cried. His black t-shirt, stained red with dirt and the setting sun, shook limply with every wracking sob.

Suddenly, the small boy let out an anguished scream, mimicking the animal he looked like, there, on the hard ground. His hands, still embedded with sharp pebbles, clenched into fists and he pounded, beat the ground as if it were the reason that he was alone.

This went on for what could have been hours or moments, the screaming and hitting. But finally, the boy stopped. His breath came in gasps, sounding as though he were drowning in the sorrow that surrounded him. But he wasn't, he was stronger than that. He had decided that he had to be stronger than that. Because, and this the boy knew for a fact, if he were to drown, there would be no one to save him.

So, this would be the last time he would do this, the last time he would allow himself to cry out in sorrow, the last time he would show a sorrowful face. From this moment on, he would show nothing but a smiling face, and he would be strong.