The warmth came and left, and, no sooner, it left and came. There was no way to guess what the world would become. At least it remained. Charred oak trees surrounded by misplaced puddles. Rivers as black as burnt cherries. Sputtering flames along the receding riverbanks. Days shorter and, still, longer.<\/p>\n
Patrick stood on the cliff and looked down at where he\u2019d come. In his arms, Theodore. Always Theodore. A boy and his doll. They were and they were not. Broken, but together. With a voice, yet voiceless.<\/p>\n
Still searching\u2014these two defenders of the future.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Patrick\u2019s father sat on the edge of his son\u2019s bed and stared into his hazel eyes. He refused to look elsewhere because, then, he would see them. The dolls stacked in Patrick\u2019s rocking chair. The dolls along the scratched dirty floor. The dolls hanging from the ceiling fan. The dolls, of course, scattered on the bed. The man never imagined his son would be one of those boys.<\/p>\n
\u201cPa, can\u2019t I get a story tonight? For my birthday?\u201d Patrick asked quietly, turning his face toward his pillow.<\/p>\n
His father didn\u2019t hesitate. His hand flew as if he were a fox and his son\u2019s face the prey. Hungry. Vicious. \u201cAin\u2019t no story gonna make you a man,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Patrick pulled his hand up to his face and felt the warmth from his cheeks. The scar would fade just as the others had.<\/p>\n
His eyes remained downward. He searched, among the many, for his favorite and longest companion: Theodore, the doll with a drawn-on navy smile and black button eyes. \u201cI\u2019m sorry you had to see that, Theodore,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
His father snatched the doll from Patrick\u2019s hands and tossed it onto the floor. Theodore\u2019s stuffed body bounced with no thump or ding. The quiet was worse than the taunting. His father stood, and his foot found the doll. He smothered Patrick\u2019s beloved friend. \u201cYeah, Theodore. I\u2019m so sorry you had to see that,\u201d he mocked.<\/p>\n
Patrick sat up in his bed and made a fist. He shook it in the air surrounding his father\u2019s face. \u201cDon\u2019t touch my doll. You\u2019ll hurt him,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
His father laughed. \u201cIt\u2019s a doll, you sissy boy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s my friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t have any friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re just mad because you are scared of what\u2019s coming.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d Patrick\u2019s father said. \u201cSomething\u2019s coming, huh? I bet Theodore told you that, too, didn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n
Patrick sat still, staring at his father. \u201cHe read about the signs in a book,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cHa! And don\u2019t ever say that I\u2019m scared. I\u2019m not scared of anything.\u201d Sweat trickled down the man\u2019s forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes you are. You know how I know?\u201d Patrick asked, pointing to the window. \u201cBecause it\u2019s not coming anymore. It\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n
He watched his father\u2019s reflection among the blazing background.<\/p>\n
There are some things that can\u2019t be contained.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Shoes already covered Patrick\u2019s feet when he hit the ground. He lifted the mattress and grabbed his frayed satchel. Two pairs of jeans, three ragged shirts, a couple of unmatched socks, and a pair of dirty underwear. It was all the clothes he had.<\/p>\n
He circled the room, grabbing his dolls and stuffing them in the bag with his clothes. All of them except Theodore, who Patrick held him in his arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have to go,\u201d the boy said to his father. \u201cThe house won\u2019t stand long.\u201d<\/p>\n
But his father didn\u2019t budge. Shock held him in its trance.<\/p>\n
\u201cPa,\u201d Patrick called as he touched his father\u2019s shoulder for the first time since his mother had died. \u201cPa, come on.\u201d<\/p>\n
He remained as still as an ancient stone, hiding his own mystery. Patrick looked at his father again, but he saw nothing more than a silhouette.<\/p>\n
\u201cPa, Theodore says we need to go now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Trees collapsed. Embers crackled. But the man at the window began to laugh. Uncontrollably. Hysterically. Shamelessly. \u201cYou\u2019re not special, boy. Don\u2019t make the mistake of thinking you are.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Patrick asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cBe a man for once in your life. Come sit here and let\u2019s die together. As men.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTheodore says\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cForget it. You never were much of a son anyhow, you know. Go on\u2014go running with your dolls.\u201d<\/p>\n
Patrick reached for his father\u2019s shoulder again, but his father intercepted the boy\u2019s touch and pushed him to the ground.<\/p>\n
He regained his footing. Then, he turned to Theodore and asked, \u201cNow is when I do it?\u201d He waited only a second before he reached behind his back and pulled out the first doll his fingers found. He placed it at his father\u2019s feet. Loneliness was too cruel of a thing for even him.<\/p>\n
Patrick sprinted toward the house\u2019s front door.<\/p>\n
As he turned the knob, an explosion came from his bedroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoodbye, Pa,\u201d Patrick said, and he ran.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Stars fell and died. Dirt floated and sparkled. Everything was nothing, but, still, there was something. Patrick, with Theodore and his sack full of dolls, played dodgeball against the crashing world. He didn\u2019t have a choice. He had to survive. Theodore told him as much.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Patrick\u2019s feet kept moving even as smoke choked him. He coughed and spat, but it did little good. Only more came.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He tasted metal. Or was it blood? It was better not to know.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The explosions kept them hidden for a while, but tears streaked his face upon the sound of the first one. The crying. The moans. The fear. The sounds came so often that they became a part of the settling breeze.<\/p>\n
They brought the boy comfort because to not hear them meant death.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. I know,\u201d Patrick said to Theodore. \u201cI\u2019m going.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Patrick chased the first voice until he found it. A man\u2014much older than his father. Patrick fell to his knees and brushed away the dirt and leaves that clung to the man\u2019s body. He held him. Then, he hugged him.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s going to be okay,\u201d Patrick said. \u201cI promise.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man was quiet as he looked up at the boy\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is for you.\u201d Patrick said, grabbing a doll from his bag and handing it to the man.<\/p>\n
The man wrapped his arms around it just as Patrick had done to the man. His shoulders fell as he breathed\u2014smoother and softer.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you hear the others crying?\u201d Patrick asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to help them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
So, he did.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Patrick found the next one. And, then, the next. And the next. Old and young. Sons and daughters. Brothers and sisters. Fathers and mothers. Broken but together. People as common as stones.<\/p>\n
Each took a doll from the boy.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Whether it was days or weeks or months, it was impossible to say. Patrick stood, with only Theodore, at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the remnants of the house from which he\u2019d fled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that I need to go back, Theodore,\u201d Patrick said.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He cried when he found his father. Cradled in his charred arms was the doll Patrick had left at his feet.<\/p>\n
Patrick sat down with Theodore by his side. \u201cDo you think I\u2019ll ever be a man?\u201d he asked. But Theodore didn\u2019t answer. And he never would again.<\/p>\n
Patrick looked up and saw them. All of them.<\/p>\n
Clutching their dolls, they waited to hear what the boy would say next.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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