The Perfect Boy

The Storyteller

The Storyteller

Connor's POV

Flashback

Stories needed to be told in a way that they made contact straight to the audience's soul. They should invoke not only the mind, but also the heart and much more than that, his whole being. Stories should awaken the hearers' emotion in such away that they ushered them into a world of fantasy.

I looked around the room. There were a hundred pairs of eyes plastered on me. They looked at me so intently with mouth agape. I could see and feel the intensity of their emotions reflected by their facial expressions and body language. My story had put them in trance. They were waiting for what I was going to say next. I purposely froze. In moments like this, I felt like their lifelines were dangling precariously by a string and I was the puppet master who pulled the string to my liking, swaying it to and fro. I saw beads of perspiration. I heard gasps and sighs. I noticed eye expression that showed depths of concern. The air was full of angst. This was my guilty pleasure as a storyteller.

Then I continued.

"And the prince was holding the damsel by his index finger. He could only hold her for so long. He could lose her any moment now and that would mean he would lose his life.

Lubdub...lubdub... lubdub...lubdub. He could hear his own heart beats. He decided, if his strength could not lift her up, if she were to go down the ravine, then he without any doubt at all that he would accompany on the journey.

By not letting her go in life as in death, there was so much to lose, but nothing compared with losing her. She was the puzzle that completed his life. The gravity that enabled him to stand on solid ground. The bubbles that made his life swell with joy. The anchor in the midst of tempest. The exuberance that put his feet to dancing again. No one else would be able to replace her.

Without realizing, his tears fell down and settled on her nose. Hers were strolling down her face as well. Her voice was muffled. Her facial expressions showed a mix of worry and peace. He absorbed both into the very depths of his being as the grip of his finger was getting looser. She knew her life was dependent on him, the lad who had sacrificed so much to make her happy. She knew if there was one person who would do anything to safe her from this calamity, it would be the boy. She was ready to submit to her fate and she knew most likely what it would.

She had longed to touch him all these years and this was the first time she was able to. In the direst of situations, he came to her rescue. Being separated by their two feuding families, they could only love from afar. But now was the time when they touched.

When her fingers touched his. When her skin came in contact with his skin. That was so little and yet she was content with just that.

Desperation overcame him. With one last look at his surrounding. His parents, the King and Queen of Asborough yelled at him to let go. The prince's Father was crying anxiously and pleaded him the country.

With one last look, before letting go, came a surge of energy. All the strength he could muster was his way he would tell the world about the woman he loved so much that he was ready to die for.

There was an abrupt silence. No gasping. No sighing. No screaming.

The prince's was wrapped around his hands. He embraced her and lovingly he gave her that one touch she longed for – a soft peck on the lips."

"Ok boys and girls . . . that's it for today, I will continue next week same day, same time."

There were thunderous claps and boisterous protests. I saw regal expressions of little princes and princesses on their faces. I noticed the crumpled tissues. Maybe, if I looked closely, I could even see the hairs standing on some of them. So, I bowed down to receive the standing ovation I was so accustomed to.

I talked to several nurses and doctors and kids. Afterwards, I threw my gaze across the room, I suddenly stopped at a figure that was so distinguished. He was taller than most of the children, nurses and doctors present in the room and strikingly handsome, and well built.  Why did thoughts like these surface every time I saw persons of my own gender.  I slapped my head mentally. I don't know what's gotten over me, I shied away from my thoughts and focused on  a few children still remaining in the room. They were so excited to talk to me, I was like a god to them. They worshiped me. Several hugged and clung to my body and legs.

And then I saw the tall boy walking straight to me with a face displaying happiness and awe. He was hesitating because the children were still around me but a bit later made his move towards me. He said the first words and extended his hand.