Violent clouds.  Loud, braying laughter.  A small boy

kneels, bleeding.  Another is crying softly.  The biggest boy is

grinning.  Evil, empty grin.  Echoes of grins, resound on

circling faces.  Unforgiving rain starts to fall.

     The blood drips from his arm.  A knife wound, a jagged

highway, a reward for no rewards.  The knife is passed around.

An objet d'art.  A jostling sound approaches.  The knife

disappears into the crowd.  The crying one is holding the side of

his head.  No wound.  A bump, like the speed bump in front of the

school.  It is painted yellow.

     Jostle.  Large eyes take in the scene.  Spit it back out.  A

gaping hole emerges.  Out of it comes a high, wavering voice.  No

one listens.  The crowd is already dispersing.  Show's over.  The

grinning one leaves.  His pants were tighter.

     (cry-baby, aren't you just a cry-baby)

     The bump remains.  Crybaby stops crying.  Starts a hitching

motion in his chest.  Holding back the tears.  The gaping hole

now hovers over the scene.  Goodyear blimp.  Words emerge from

the darkness.  Indecipherable.

     The bleeding one chooses this time to keel over.  It is a

majestic event.  His center of gravity begins a slow crawl

towards the ground.  The bloody arm pulled tight to the chest.

Head lolls to the side.  Then to the front.  Body begins forward

motion.  Wet hair shifts to the front.  Eyes shut loosely.  A

hand reaches out from the darkness.  Not in time.  The unzipped

zipper on his jacket touches the ground.  The knees slip

slightly.  His pelvis smashes down.  A whiplash effect.  Chest

hits, head splashes into puddle.  Pain rockets from the arm.

Mist descends.  Darkness envelops.

     Crybaby sits.  His mind is Light.  His head still rings.

The gaping hole has arms now.  It is pulling him up.  Crybaby

likes it on the muddy ground.  The arm slips.  He thuds down.

Starts crying again.

     (crybaby, why won't you play, why won't you do it with us)

     Another jostling sound.  Quieter.  Crowd is gone.  Gaping

hole is joined by dark chasm.  They both have arms.  They both

grab, and lift.  Crybaby lets go.  They pull him up, carry him.

     The bleeding one lies.  Face in the water.  Bubbles.  An arm

turns him over.  He breathes.  He sleeps.  A hand touches the

jag.  Sleep is now deeper.

     (what did you call me?  I think you like the pain, don't

you)

     Soon, the puff of wind from a thousand dreams fades into

stillness.