Photo by Kirill Petropavlov
Cruel Child
Micro-Fiction
365 Words
On the balcony high in the sky overlooking the street, the boy sits on a chair, straight up and calm. Brown curls frame his face, reaching his shoulders, and he stares into the distance with hands crossed over his chest. He takes deep, measured breaths. From afar, the sound of sirens cut through the air.
The man lies on the ground near the curb, holding his head—the helmet rolled onto the dying grass. Wheels still turning, the motorcycle rests by the divider. Mangled.
People gather around. The boy keeps watch.
Wild and forceful, the man rocks his head, and still clutching it, he tugs it toward his chest. His legs spread out. Jeans ripped on his right knee as if sliced upward, exposing his strong thigh muscles covered with fast emerging blood. Sounds of anguish escape his lips.
Like a marble statue, the boy’s face stays motionless, his locks blown by the gentle wind. Eyes stuck on the man and his bike.
The ambulance arrives. Men in uniform rush to the man on the ground and pull his hands away, revealing dark blood trickling down toward his chin. A scream cuts into the air, deeper than the sirens before, and the crowd grows larger. The murmurs become echoes of “Oh my God! Poor man… Is he going to live?”
The boy doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, and his breathing doesn't change. In and out. In and out, deep and steady. His gaze, empty.
Another shout of pain breaks out from the man as two paramedics lift him. They lay him on the gurney. The horde hisses. Sounding louder than before, the siren cries.
The man is taken away.
A tow truck approaches, slows, and parks on the side of the road. A short, stocky man hops out to inspect the bike—big, beautiful, bright red like fresh blood. Three police cars block traffic with flashing lights atop. Their white sides read, “Cook County Sheriff.” Bold. And daring.
The motorcycle is taken away.
The crowd disappears.
A light breeze caressing his face, the boy sits, still gazing at the empty street. In his hands gleams a small compact mirror case. He closes it, tender and slow.
A prior version of "Cruel Child" was 1sth published in print in the 1st annual Spark Literary Journal, spring 2016.
The Author
E. Izabelle Cassandra Alexander writes short stories, creative nonfiction essays, flash fiction, plays, and poetry. She's also working on a few novels, among them her first mystery novel, The Orange Door, and a series of children's books about the adventures of Millie, a little bluebird, with lovely illustrations. Her poetry and prose have been published in various literary journals and anthologies.
Izabelle's work has been published in Spark Literary Journal 2016, 2018, 2019, and 2020, in the Illinois State Poetry Society’s (ISPS) Anthology, Distilled Lives, Volume 4, 2018, and on the ISPS website, 2017-2019, in Yearning to be Free by The Moonstone Art Center, 2019, Fresh.Ink Magazine, 2019, by The Scarlet Leaf Review in 2018 & 2020, by WOW! Women on Writing, 2019, 2020 & 2021, by The Book Smuggler's Den, 2019, Tint Journal, 2020, Unlimited Literature (UL-LitMag), 2020-2022, Ariel's Dream Literary Journal, 2020-2022, Pages & Spine, 2020, Beautiful Words by Ariel Publishing, 2020-2022, L.eX | Literary Excellence, 2021 & 2022, The Bookend Review, 2021, and more.
She won several Honorable Mentions and Runner Up status with her flash fiction and creative nonfiction essays she entered into contests.WOW! Women on Writing published an interview in The Muffin (an online blog: https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/) on January 14th, 2020.
You can find some of her work on her website at izabelle2012.wixsite.com/izabelle and on Patreon (where you can also support her work) at www.patreon.com/IzabelleAlexander and connect with her by visiting her page at fb.me/E.IzabelleAlexander on Facebook.
E. Izabelle Cassandra Alexander