I asked him once why he always sat there in the corner, but he didn’t answer. He just stared at me with those wide eyes that rarely ever blinked. From the day I turned five he was there, never moving, never speaking. In the beginning I was afraid of him, but as time passed I grew accustomed to his presence, comforted by it even. Eventually I named him Pickle. I don’t know if he liked the name I’d chosen. He never made a fuss about it one way or the other. Years went by with him as my constant companion. I used him as a sort of verbal diary, running my thoughts and ideas by him. Never once did he interrupt or call my ideas stupid. He allowed them to fester and grow. With his silence, he encouraged my hopes and dreams. On my eighteenth birthday, he was gone. As suddenly as he’d shown up, he’d vanished. In his place sat a note sprawled in lazy letters on a piece of torn, yellow scratch paper: “Somewhere out there, a child needs me. Goodbye, my friend.” Looking back, I’ve no idea if he was real or imagined, but I’d like to think he’s out there somewhere, offering solace to a child in need of a friend.
Have you liked my facebook page (Adam Ickes – Author) yet? Go on, be a good little minion and give it a like. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. I can’t promise the same kindness from the characters in my stories though.
While you’re at it, you should follow me on the Twitter machine as well, immediately and henceforth: @AdamIckes