One Day as a Lion

A Thousand Years as a Lamb-Part One

He stood silently at the edge of the river staring into the murky waters just inches from his bare toes. He wondered what the water would feel like inching up his legs to his waist then around his chest, until he took a big breath and submerged his head. He cautiously dipped his big toe in to test the temperature, but hastily pulled back before contact.

This was his fifth day standing here. He would ride his bike everyday after school and stare blankly into the dark green water, hoping that someday he would make the plunge.
He could hear the screams of young children swimming carelessly down stream. He heard echoes of these children teasing him for not taking the plunge. He tried to hike as far up river away from them as he could, but no matter how far he got, their voices carried, tormenting even the smallest bones in his body.

He was skinny and frail standing naked next to this river. He looked like a ghost standing in front of the giant aspen trees surrounding him, but he liked that. He liked the feeling of being invisible and alone. He hated being recognized in this forest as more than a ghost and the trees helped remind him of that.

He released his eyes from the moving river to look up through the falling leaves to the disappearing sun. The rays shot into his pupils, burning his eyes, but he continued staring. The screams of the children had died down and he knew that he was alone. He stared deeply into the eyes of his gloomy reflection and watched the sun slowly sneak away. Darkness quickly swept in and the boy watched his reflection drown in the river below him.

This was the fifth day he watched himself drown. He stared at the spot where he lost himself and began to cry. Only one tear hit the water and rippled across the river.

One Day as a Lion-Part Two

He lived through the reflection he saw of himself on the television screen across the room. Somehow he kept check of his health through this screen. He would wake up and smile into the deep empty dark hole searching for his reflection, until he found himself. He knew he would be okay as long as he saw himself smiling.

The nurses would visit him every morning, cautiously opening the door with an unsure greeting. Their plastic smiles stunk up the room and their knee-deep conversations were nauseating. They would ask the boy questions about superheroes, and sports, trying to converse, but the boy would never break eye contact with the television screen. They would come and go, and the boy swould continue smiling as if their presence was as important as a fly that flew in and out of the open window.

The doctors tried to explain to the boy the extent of his injuries, but they could never catch his attention. The doctors started betting on who could break the boys smile first. They would take turns visiting the boy, each explaining his injuries with more detail and vulgarity. They would leave his room with a feeling of defeat and be heckled by the doctors waiting in the hallway until the next in line took their chance.

The nurses and doctors all wondered what the boy was staring at. They would track his eyes to the television and stare blankly into the screen analytically observing what the boy could be so entertained by. Sometimes they would turn the television on, but as quickly as the images of cartoons or newscasters appeared, the boy would unplug the cord from the power supply resting next to his bed. The nurses would retreat to the lounge frustrated and smoke a cigarette while venting with anger to the other nurses.

. . .

She was lost in the stagnant hallways of the children's hospital. The nurses permitted her one walk a day and she decided to take this one alone. Her hair swayed in front of her freckled nose as she walked, keeping her hidden from the rushed nurses hurrying to their buzzing patients. After wandering aimlessly for ten minutes, the route she had taken blurred and she was lost in an endless maze of fluorescent lights and urgency. She stumbled upon the intensive care unit and walked through the sliding doors like she belonged there.

She peeked into every room she passed feeling embarrassed and guilty with each child she saw. They all look so miserable, she thought to herself only noticing their facial expressions instead of their injuries. But then she found the boy in room 17.

She nervously peeked around the corner of his room wondering what he was staring at. She noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around his whole body, the translucent tubing inserted into his veins injecting mysterious fluids simultaneously, the bruises, the blood, and the heart monitor ticking away slowly, counting down the beats to his death. But above all she noticed his smile.

She crept into the door trying hard not to startle him, but he did not break eye contact with the television. She tip toed closer until she was near enough to touch him. She felt invisible in his presence, as if nothing could be comprehended in his eyes but the television screen only feet away from his face.

She whispered nervously, "What happened to you?" There was no reply. Her voice cracked as she said, "My name is Penelope. What's yours?" No reply. She felt a bit frustrated but did not give up. She explained why she was in the hospital and where she was from. She expressed her frustration of not being able to play outside with her friends in the cool fall air and when she was told she would be released. She paused and looked back down to the boy, but the boy was still staring and smiling into his television set. She gave up. She turned her back to him and walked toward the door. As she was leaving she heard the boy speak. She tried not to jump, but instead turned around quickly. He slowly spoke and asked, "Have you ever watched yourself die?"

She didn't know what to say, so she walked back to the side of his bed and sat down. They sat silently for a moment until she whispered, "What do you see in that screen?" The boy closed his eyes and kept them closed for what seemed like an eternity. When he opened them they were fixed straight into the eyes of Penelope. He opened his mouth and stated, "It is better to live one day as a lion, than a thousand years as a lamb." He looked back into his television set, smiled, and did not say another word.