Imitation- The Growth

A child is born, as if by an accident of fate, to two parents who swear they will care for it & love it & do the best thing for it. Its skin is silky, the colour of milk. & its little tiny eyes blink innocently at the troubles of the world. The mother strokes adoringly at the little twirl of hair on the back of the baby's head. & the father hopes one day they can play baseball together in the field down the street.


Sadly, the parents grow apart just as much as the baby grows. For some reason suddenly they can't seem to agree on anything. When the baby should go to bed, what to do when the baby cries, what kind of formula the baby should drink. They can't agree on anything. One day the little baby says its very first word, but the parents don't hear for their yells are too loud. A couple days later the baby stands up, & takes a step or two. But the parents are throwing plates at each other, so they don't see. & as time goes by, the parents realize the only thing they love is the child, so they leave each other. & the child goes from newborn to toddler to little child in the eyes of only parent at a time. Never having realized that it was once loved by two people.

As the child grows into a youngster, it knows what it missed out on, & slowly becomes angry. The kid ages into a teenager, the anger growing into fury. About to crack unless it goes out, drinking, picking fights. It now carries a switch blade, a gun. Something dangerous to help the kid feel noticed.

Sometimes the teen throws plates at it's mum. Sometimes yells at it's dad, both of them not realizing the phone is ringing. The answering machine clicks, & someone is talking in a slow somber voice. The father & child keep on yelling, & only stop when they hear the word:

HOSPITAL.

After the child's mum's funeral, the court forces it to live with the father now. But the teen is even more furious now. More so than before, & one night packs it's bags & leaves. It stuffs its gun in the back of its pants, & slides the blade in its sock. The rebel walks all night long, catching buses & trains. Hitch hiking, picking fights with drunks on the side of the roads. It pools some money together, most of it stolen, & meets up with dodgy looking blokes in dark alleys. The punkster meets people, which leads to living in a run down slum with leaky roofs & peeling wall paper. Everyone knows not to mess with this kid, so they respect & keep away. But the kid is putting on an act, & feels lonely & without purpose.

One night after a wicked fight & perhaps too much drinking, it walks alone in park. Its arms hang limply & its hair matted & oily. Dark circles bulge under the child's eyes, & sharp gaunt cheek bones make the face look eery & starved in the dim light. It takes out its switchblade & points it at a stray cat. They hiss at each other & the human throws the blade at the animal as it scampers away. BASTARD! it yells. BASTARD BASTARD YOU BASTARDS! It falls to it's knees, sobbing against the dew covered grass. You bastards... It mumbles, as a steady hand lifts the nozzle of the gun to its temple.

Suddenly in the split second before the figure is dead, it turns into a baby. Its hair is soft & curls behind it's ears. It laughs as it takes a step into the arms of its mum. The father clapping proudly with tears in his eyes. The baby's eyes twinkle & stare bravely as it stutters a couple of words. The parents are both there at the breakfast table, talking about a possibly picnic later on. & they pick up the child & kiss its blushing cheeks. Laughing & debating what the word actually was as a plate silently falls onto the floor. Food spills across the tiles, shards scatter the ground. But it goes unnoticed, for at that exact moment, it isn't important.