The Aviator
When he was born, he had three beans in his hand. The nurse had said that there had been a glowing light when he had been born, it spoke to her, saying that the beans were special and only the child would know what to do with them.
The mother put the beans in a brown bag. The same brown bag where she had put the ashes before they had floated away. As the last ash flew out of the bag and the three beans were in, the mother's hand went limp. The nurse screamed for someone who never came.
The child grew up as other children did. Woke up everyday as the sun rose, watered the flowers, brushed his hair and went to school. Everyday, before he left, he would tie the bag around his neck and make sure he had the three beans.
Never had he understood what the beans were for, but neither had he ever questioned their presence. They stood, a reminder of the mother that he never had a chance to meet.
As other children, he grew, both in height and in intellect. He fell in love. He grew up.
He was happy.
The rains came one day. The relentless rain took away many of the things around him in the mudslides that ensued. That day his lover never returned.
The night grew dark and the room grew darker as someone stepped inside, someone not known to him. It was the embodiment of darkness, not dark but full of the eternal void where even light seemed to be afraid of going. The figure spoke of three favors that could be granted to the child. Not three wishes however, but three favors that were to be repaid at the discretion of the child.
He had read and heard enough to know what not to ask for but he did not know what to ask for.
In that moment everything seemed so clear. He wished the figure to bring back his lover. The figure, bowing, stepped out for a moment and came back with someone in its arms. The figure put that person on the floor. Drops fell from the body as it was lain on the wood, eyes closed in peace where there was none.
He looked away and touched the bag to feel safe, but could find no solace as he found only two beans were in the bag. As he looked, the figure smiled, without mirth, stating something about compensation.
The next thoughts in his mind were of leaving the house, leaving everything behind.
He got what he wanted of course. The figure directed him outside the house where a small plane stood, fueled and ready to go, waiting for the pilot.
He touched the bag, only one bean remained.
Boarding the plane, he felt his clothes change into a khaki uniform, the top hat changing into an aviator's. Sadness turned into inexpressive stare.
When he got off of the plane people started yelling at him, telling him to go places, to do their dirty work. He did them all, in-expressively, never showing his emotions because he was too afraid of going back.
For two long years he stayed with the plane. People around him started to grow scarce, less people returned with their planes and those that did never got back on them. His plane was all he had, and so he could never let it go.
Flying, he looked to his wings and saw that they were about to fall apart. Small holes dotted the wings, splinters marring the beautiful design. He could hear that it was behind him. The deep roar slowly becoming louder. More noise ensued and he ducked.
He stood on the island for days, expecting a rescue and some news. Nothing came. The palm trees were his only company.
He sat in the shade of one of them, unsheathing his dagger as he had often practiced. He felt the blade touch his skin, so quick, so easy. The dark figure reappeared before him. The sun itself seemed to grow colder, spreading darkness instead of light.
He knew it was gone, he didn't search for it. He was pointed to a rickety old boat that had a dozen holes in it. He got on board, his knees creaked as he in his tattered uniform got on and the boat began to row backwards.
The boat stopped at a dock, its sides with a shiny, new veneer. He got off in his old school uniform, freshly pressed, and found the person he loved most beside the person he never got to love.
He smiled.