Hollow

Russel was the name printed on the coffin by the river. 1336-1348. I, by myself, pulled it into the river and watched it crush against rocks. There was no melancholy regarding my past, but perhaps regret when it came down to other things.

I realized, soon after wandering off into countless dangers, that though my heart would beat in a constant rhythm

I could not bleed. I couldn't reach any red within me.

I realized my body weight was similar to that one of a hollow tree.

My body temperature was always room temperature.

My body was weak and very suseptible to harm. Not much force is necessary to rip my limbs off.

My pain tolerance is very low, and yet you could burn me alive, and I could just walk it out.

I also realized that ripe people naturally repell me, which differs drastically to children who have an almost gutteral instinct to rub on me.

At night, when the sun couldn't assist me, I realized that the warmth emanating from children was theirs. That it belonged to them therefore they could lend it to me. It became a habit to find them when I was troubled the most. It was easy.

The wind would blow dried up leaves inside through creaks. With them, I would sneak in. I would crawl under blankets, and I would leach off their warmth.

In the mornings, I would hide under the bed and pull on their hair.

Throughout the day, I would watch for fear in their mother's faces.

I walked around, stalking and creeping in and out of the bakery. 

"Russel!" Cried the blond young Marie as she opened the oven.

Steam escaped every window, followed by the sweet smell of butter and milk.

She smirked.

I grasped the burning aluminum trays and smoothly placed them near one opened window.

"Woahh! You really don't feel pain? Can I touch your palms? How does it not burn."

She easily invaded the space I carefully gathered between us.

"I don't burn, Heat can't reach me..

"Mhm.." She fondled my palms with the tips of her fingers, squeezing and pinching away.

"Marie!." A roar interupted.

"Isn't that.."

She let go of my hands and stormed out as she'd usually do. I wasn't very fond of her, so I enjoyed when her mother would come and take her. However, I had an intruding guilty feeling when she dragged her sandals in the dirt as she walked out. She seemed revolted by her mother.

If I had a mother, I wouldn't repell her. On the contrary, I would be good to her in every possible way.

Marie was a nuisance.