Roalis 51, 2703
"N
ext time you see this, it will look just as it does now. No scratches, no dents, no dirt, no rust. I'm going to take the best care of it," she grinned reassuringly, clutching the music box to her chest. She'd have to find something else to break, have made, or have fixed for an excuse to see the boy and his mother's shop- she would not let the music box get damaged if its safety cost her a whole week of food. Perhaps it was simply just a box of metal, but she already knew it as so much more to both her and Boston. To Boston, this was his one of his first inventions made completely by his own hand, and a certain pride and pain were clear in his eyes as he parted with it. This invention was as equivalent to a child as a boy his age could have, she decided, and here she was with it cradled in her arms. And, to Sednai, the sacrifice was not unnoticed. The sacrifice of one's own love and pride to fortify the happiness of another was not something even a twelve-year-old could ignore, and, coming from someone as young as Boston, the action was incredibly wise. Even the most educated galdor, the most experienced human, the most travelled wick, would struggle to make that decision, to give up such a trophy of pride, such a momentous product. Sednai appreciated it more than her stretching smile could express.
She shook is hand eagerly as he offered it, thinking the whole ordeal rather professional for two children squatting on a street and sharing bread a jam, but, then again, she had never been respected enough or important enough to shake someone's hand. It was a good feeling.
"I'll bet being friends with you has plenty of perks. Not just amazing inventions and fixing of things and sharing bread and jam, either," she hypothesized with a smile and a tilt of her head. Her hair fell away from her neck, revealing the scarred brand there. Yet, this boy called her strong. The scar was strength, not weakness. She was strong. And she'd be strong for dreamers and thinkers like Boston who had a blackhole of a world surrounding their innovative thoughts.
Boston stood, and she took his hand and rose to stand significantly taller even with her feet bare on the warm cobblestones below her toes. She had, in her happiness and social hour with Boston, nearly forgotten of the earlier events of Fahlo betraying her, taking her money, and her hurling one of her worn cloth shoes after him in anger just before watching the damned thing bounce off a building and tumble into the great nothingness and void of a storm drain on the street. The single shoe she clutched, lonely without its brother, reminded her, however, and she could nearly laugh it away. Ridiculous, it was, and simply just her luck. Yet, without it, she'd still be in some back alley counting money with Fahlo, the dirty cheat, just waiting for him to betray her. She wouldn't have met Boston, or heard the beauty of his music box. It was a bittersweet thing- to find happiness, a pain often came before, yet it made the happiness so much brighter in a dark time.
She was sad to say goodbye to her friend, but, that was just it. She had made a friend who had invited her to see his shop, who had promised to come find her again. Friends came back, didn't they? None of hers had, yet, of course, but they were coming- she'd go back to Wikus and get him out of the mine, and Fahlo would feel bad and come back, wouldn't he? She hoped so. She hoped, too, that Boston would be a recurring friend. It would be nice to have someone come back for once.
Sednai accepted the second hug from the smaller boy happily. And, then, he was off, his bag bouncing against his side as he ran off down the street.
And Sednai was alone again, but this time she wasn't lonely. Sednai had a friend, a friend who, despite having just met her, she was sure, deep down, meant that they were friends, truly. She was unsure if it was his bright smile, his warm hugs, or his willingness to present her with such a gift that gave him an innocent and wholesome pride in his little heart, but she was sure they were friends. She, too, would be willing to reciprocate his efforts. He was worth it.
“Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.'
'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
E.B. White, Charlotte's Web
ext time you see this, it will look just as it does now. No scratches, no dents, no dirt, no rust. I'm going to take the best care of it," she grinned reassuringly, clutching the music box to her chest. She'd have to find something else to break, have made, or have fixed for an excuse to see the boy and his mother's shop- she would not let the music box get damaged if its safety cost her a whole week of food. Perhaps it was simply just a box of metal, but she already knew it as so much more to both her and Boston. To Boston, this was his one of his first inventions made completely by his own hand, and a certain pride and pain were clear in his eyes as he parted with it. This invention was as equivalent to a child as a boy his age could have, she decided, and here she was with it cradled in her arms. And, to Sednai, the sacrifice was not unnoticed. The sacrifice of one's own love and pride to fortify the happiness of another was not something even a twelve-year-old could ignore, and, coming from someone as young as Boston, the action was incredibly wise. Even the most educated galdor, the most experienced human, the most travelled wick, would struggle to make that decision, to give up such a trophy of pride, such a momentous product. Sednai appreciated it more than her stretching smile could express.
She shook is hand eagerly as he offered it, thinking the whole ordeal rather professional for two children squatting on a street and sharing bread a jam, but, then again, she had never been respected enough or important enough to shake someone's hand. It was a good feeling.
"I'll bet being friends with you has plenty of perks. Not just amazing inventions and fixing of things and sharing bread and jam, either," she hypothesized with a smile and a tilt of her head. Her hair fell away from her neck, revealing the scarred brand there. Yet, this boy called her strong. The scar was strength, not weakness. She was strong. And she'd be strong for dreamers and thinkers like Boston who had a blackhole of a world surrounding their innovative thoughts.
Boston stood, and she took his hand and rose to stand significantly taller even with her feet bare on the warm cobblestones below her toes. She had, in her happiness and social hour with Boston, nearly forgotten of the earlier events of Fahlo betraying her, taking her money, and her hurling one of her worn cloth shoes after him in anger just before watching the damned thing bounce off a building and tumble into the great nothingness and void of a storm drain on the street. The single shoe she clutched, lonely without its brother, reminded her, however, and she could nearly laugh it away. Ridiculous, it was, and simply just her luck. Yet, without it, she'd still be in some back alley counting money with Fahlo, the dirty cheat, just waiting for him to betray her. She wouldn't have met Boston, or heard the beauty of his music box. It was a bittersweet thing- to find happiness, a pain often came before, yet it made the happiness so much brighter in a dark time.
She was sad to say goodbye to her friend, but, that was just it. She had made a friend who had invited her to see his shop, who had promised to come find her again. Friends came back, didn't they? None of hers had, yet, of course, but they were coming- she'd go back to Wikus and get him out of the mine, and Fahlo would feel bad and come back, wouldn't he? She hoped so. She hoped, too, that Boston would be a recurring friend. It would be nice to have someone come back for once.
Sednai accepted the second hug from the smaller boy happily. And, then, he was off, his bag bouncing against his side as he ran off down the street.
And Sednai was alone again, but this time she wasn't lonely. Sednai had a friend, a friend who, despite having just met her, she was sure, deep down, meant that they were friends, truly. She was unsure if it was his bright smile, his warm hugs, or his willingness to present her with such a gift that gave him an innocent and wholesome pride in his little heart, but she was sure they were friends. She, too, would be willing to reciprocate his efforts. He was worth it.
“Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.'
'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
E.B. White, Charlotte's Web
