Happy birthday to you

Five days have passed since the passing of Jeanne Candlemas and it was now the thirtieth of September, a special day for Giles- his birthday; but without his mother, it was just like any other day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the water from the river was flowing calmly; it was a pleasant afternoon, perfect for a stroll.

Waking up to the sounds of pebbles and various other objects getting thrown, hitting the cold hard exterior of the modest home. A pale, starved, young boy of eight flicked his wrist spastically, scratching against the soft rug he calls a bed, his long, dirty nails getting caught between stray threads.

The village kids in their tidy, casual clothing outside on the streets of Beynac-et-Cazenac snicker and laugh audaciously, disturbing the picturesque surroundings of the French countryside. One of the boys, wearing a nifty blue shirt nudged one of his obsequious accomplices, who looked to be around the same age as him, ten at best.

"Oi, wouldn't it be funny if we played a harmless prank on Gilly boy?"

The other child nodded with his head hanging low. His beady eyes met with the others' and they shared a malicious grin. "Well, shall we now?"

The boys' polished black shoes tipped and tapped along the coarse ground. Columns of rocks organized to build sturdy buildings pass by their vision as they finally arrive at the Candlemas' front door. Each boy giggles in giddy delight as the main leader holds his hand out to knock. His knuckles brush up against the mossy wooden door. The obtuse child's face sours as he touched the dry but somewhat sticky substance. "Freaks. They live in such a horrible condition-- they didn't even bother to wipe off this gunk!"

Proceeding to knock eight times, the hearty scamp giggled before proclaiming in a high-pitched voice, "Darling, I came back home with supper!" All the kids laughed. It was a raucous noise that carried into the resting boy's bedroom. Why had they chosen to impersonate Giles' dead mother on his own birthday? The only plausible reason is hate---maybe a bit of jealousy.

With a mournful heart, tears came flowing like floodgates from Giles' eyes. Bony arms wrapping around his legs, he curled into a ball. His breathing quickened as he sobbed violently. Red eyes pouring tears, he cried out with a cracking voice, "Leave me alone!"

The boy was so weak he could die at any moment. His illness slightly worn out but it was still hard for him to move. Sobbing at the sounds of laughter, Giles frustratedly kicked at the dust beside his only pair of running shoes.

"Today is the day I die along mama."

He was preparing for this moment ever since his mother caught the same sickness as him. What dark thoughts conjured up in this little boy's premature brain? What a pitiful thing to see and listen to. Why has he even thought of something as grim as death?

"I don't want things to hurt anymore. I want to be with mama."

He raised a hand to wipe away the salty liquids spilling from his dark blue eyes, marked by dark circles. The red, freckled cheeks of the young blonde were moist and wet. The boys outside of his simple stone house jeered louder and louder, disturbing the calm scenery. "Oi, get yourself out here like a man! You're 8 years old now ain'tcha? You're old enough to get your ass beat." Deafeningly loud applause and laughter rang outside.

"I will be there soon. Wait for me please." Giles hated strangers. He was never this calm when approaching them. This day was supposed to be special for him.

Dragging his charcoal-dark feet, filthy from the dirt and dust, the child headed straight for the door. His modest appearance was puzzled by the sudden silence outside his doorstep. The middle-classed boys have fled the scene, running in cowardice as a man dressed to the nines stepped up to the porch, a slick black limousine whirring in the backdrop. It was unusual to have a visitor like this in their simple town. He lifts an elegant hand to knock as the sun reflects on his grey shades. Giles, curious, tip-toed to see what was going on. And then he made eye contact. His sleepy eyes widened in fear. He cowered in silence. Fear filled his throat and as he choked, the man knocked loudly for the second time. "Mr. Candlemas, come outside."