The pond was lying still in the middle of the park, a stone-grey surface mirroring the clouds above. There was a small boy at the edge of the pond, he was bathed in birds; doves and sparrows flurrying around him in a storm. They were hopping on the stone floor in confused circles, traipsing on their clawed feet.
The boy kept throwing his hands into the air as if there was bread in his closed fists. The glee was written on his face as he watched the birds spread their wings in hope of a crumb, and they did so.
Every single time.
It’s the eternal fascination with power. He felt like a small god because he didn’t understand that what he did was cruel. He only saw the birds following his continued demand to rise, not quite able to comprehend that the reason they did was their hunger, and that they were too simple to realise that there would never be any bread in his hands. A miniature of human ignorance, an innocent malice that didn’t mean anything. Still it made me stop in my tracks and observe him.
The sun shone behind him, illuminating his blonde locks and I heard him giggle and I hurt a little, thinking what humans are capable of when they don’t understand the helplessness of others.