The Lost Boy.

The Museum was still closed. Quiet outside. Lovebirds nesting. Flowers blossoming. A homeless man searching for leftovers. Trash oriented. Long beard. Eyes hidden. So tired. Oh that smell. Clothes dirty. Killing every delightful fragrance at once. He felt bad. His family left him. Not accepted. He did not meet the high standards. Followed another path. Thrown away as garbage. He had no goal. Anymore. He gave up. On life. Once he had been a successful business man. Everything he touched, transformed. Into gold. Today. Into darkness. Sinking deeper and deeper. Everything was aching. His leg wounded. Infected. A bite. From a rat? He was not sure. His memory deactivated.

A bit further, another scene. A young boy was playing. With paper planes. He was silent. Too silent for a young child. Obsessed by the movement of the plane. Big eyes. Moving left and right. 'Where is your mother?', said the old man to the boy. The boy did not react. Not yet. Preferred to stay inside the bubble of no harm. The old man sat down. The boy not scared at all. Rather numb. No sign of human emotions. 'Look at me', the old fool whispered. The young boy obeyed. The old man could read his soul. He was already lost. The boy's soul long gone. A result of mother's love denial. The process almost completed. Ready to shift to the other world. 'Fuck, what the hell people do to each other!', the old man cried.

Synchronicity. She appeared on scene. Watched the old man and the young boy sitting together. Like grandfather and grandson. Her high heels echoing. Straight walk. Dressed to kill. Sexy. In black. The boy looked up. Saw her in the face. She felt a connection. The boy stared. Into the air. She felt sad. Did not know why. 'Your grandson is fine?', she asked. The old man nodded. 'Not my family. I found him here', was his answer. 'Do you smoke, Miss?', another sentence. She gave him the last package of Pall Mall. It belonged to her former lover in Paris. She was not into smoking. Bad smell. Her senses could not stand to be alongside the old fool for too long. Her nose could not cope with it. Grateful he was. As if he won the lottery.

The young boy left alone. She decided to take him to the police. He needed to be reunited with his mother. He was not speaking. His paper planes left on the floor. Cold. As ice. His expression. Terrible to see on such a young face. She tried to figure out if there was a clue somewhere. A name tag or an address. Nothing. She had to follow her intuition. The sky turned grey. It was raining. The clouds no mercy. The lovebirds continued. Still in paradise. No weather could bring them out of balance. The boy grabbed her dress. Felt comfortable. She looked at him. Touched. Shelter. For the lost souls. The police officer was friendly. In a good mood. He listened to her story. Gave a teddy bear to the young boy.

'There is a boy reported missing', he explained. 'Let me do some research, thank you for your support. We do not want young children to be left alone in the streets', he added. 'I have children myself, my father's heart would die. At once', he smiled at the young boy. She left them both. Caressed the little boy's head. He did not move. Just stared. She looked at her watch. He would meet her in 15 minutes. Hurry up! A last look in the mirror. She was fine. A shadow approaching the Museum. Followed by a second one. She was hiding under a roof. The smell of the rain. She loved it! Suddenly a hand on her shoulders. Fingers sinking deeper. Recognition. Skin to skin. Tom Ford. Noir. OMG. It was him! Excited!!!

They were happy. To see each other again. From a distance. A couple in love. His body language signaling fire. Her body elegant and patient. 'You are gorgeous, pretty lady', he whispered in her ear. 'Thank you', she replied with grace. He scanned her completely. She felt how his eyes looked at every detail with curiosity and care. Surrendering. Touched by a stranger. Soul deep. She was at ease. With him. 'Do you have tickets for the museum?', he asked. 'Yes, already got them!', her lips curling with joy. No lipstick ever could color the feeling of excitement that she felt right now. He turned around. It seemed that someone touched his back. No living soul. A dark shadow observing him. Black holes. No mercy. Evil plan. 

By Liesbeth Leysen