Flash Fiction: From Cub to Wolf

Eres Ferro Bastian
180410160048

From Cub to Wolf

As usual as ever, on every afternoon, at Roy’s front porch, we played together. Often, we played with toys together, I held the enemy role, Roy held the hero, and Jonathan held the hero’s army, Maple busied herself with cooking games, though. It was always from three to six, until azan came – or at least until mom called me. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand nine.

As usual as ever, on every afternoon, at Roy’s front porch, we played together. Often, we played football together, I played the keeper, Roy and Jonathan battled in front of me, Maple sat nearby. It was always from three to six, until azan came – or at least until mom called me. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand ten.

We graduated.

Unusual as ever, on every afternoon, at my front porch, Roy drove through my home without saying hi. Jonathan moved away to the Western part of Jakarta. Maple stood nearby, though. Lately, no one really want to talk to me. I heard one of them said, “He screams too much” and “Cries a lot”. So, I played alone with my toys, it was always from three to six, until azan came – or at least until mom called me. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand eleven.

Unusual as ever, on every afternoon, at my front porch, Roy never drive by again. I never hear anything from Jonathan anymore. Maple stood nearby, though. Lately, not even grow ups wanted to talk to me. I heard one of them said, “He got autism” and “is not normal”. So, I played alone with my toys, it was always from three to six, until azan came – or at least until mom called me. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand twelve.

Unusual as ever, on every afternoon, at school, I played alone. I often spent my recess in the bathroom, locked by them, screaming “Fucking Autist!”, “Shithead!” and “Idiot!”. I often saw Maple through the small hole on the door hinges, she passed by, looking concerned. It was always from twelve to one – or at least until someone use the bathroom. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand thirteen.

Oddest as ever, on every afternoon, at school, my gut hurt. My cheek swelled, and I walked slower now. Maple took my hand and we hid near the praying room. Maple took care of my wound since she is from the red cross club. She taught me to speak up. It was always from three to four – or at least until my wound stopped bleeding. I always remember the big number hanging at my house. Two thousand fourteen.

Oddest as ever, on every afternoon, at school, they came to hurt me again.

But I screamed. Screamed as loud as I could.

But everybody pass by, they saw me lying, though. I saw Maple too, she was crying. Look at me! Look at those people beating me! It hurts! Have you been hurt before! You must have! So, I lied down, everything passed so quickly.

And I got in detention, said I was fucking demented. Two thousand fifteen, still no one cared.

Photo by Kat J on Unsplash

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