Wei snuffed, curled up into himself in the crook of the tree. Hot tears stung his eyes and built up, his becoming shiny and glassy as he tried, tried, tried not to cry, but they came unbidden and hot like fire. The tears soaked the arms of the old and patchy sweater we was wearing, his legs tucked into the the bottom hole of the oversized sweatshirt that belonged to his big brother. His tail was wrapped around the trunk of the tree, he shivered weakly as he could feel another wave of tears splash against his belly.
He hadn't been sleeping well. He hadn't actually had a good night's sleep in almost three months, the same horrible nightmare had him waking up screaming every night with a burning in his chest like he'd been drowning. He was so alone on this island, so far from home--it would take weeks for a letter from home to reach him here, and even though he had a phone, he wasn't able to call back home. Every minute was too expensive, every second was worth enough food to feed his mom and brother for a week.
The small monkey had tried to make friends, tried desperately to push back against the loneliness of being so far away, where no one knew him or liked him. He'd always felt this crippling loneliness, even when surrounded by people.
But even though he thought that he was finally getting friends, he knew that none of them would ever feel the same way he did.
To him, a friend--a true, deep, close friend--was the most intimate thing to him. That person was his most important person, above all of his other friends that person will be the most important.
But to his friends? He was always just a friend. He was something that would come secondary to everything else in their lives--especially if they had a romantic partner.
Another round of tears came, and he wiped the tears from his eyes. He was so alone.
He hadn't been sleeping well. He hadn't actually had a good night's sleep in almost three months, the same horrible nightmare had him waking up screaming every night with a burning in his chest like he'd been drowning. He was so alone on this island, so far from home--it would take weeks for a letter from home to reach him here, and even though he had a phone, he wasn't able to call back home. Every minute was too expensive, every second was worth enough food to feed his mom and brother for a week.
The small monkey had tried to make friends, tried desperately to push back against the loneliness of being so far away, where no one knew him or liked him. He'd always felt this crippling loneliness, even when surrounded by people.
But even though he thought that he was finally getting friends, he knew that none of them would ever feel the same way he did.
To him, a friend--a true, deep, close friend--was the most intimate thing to him. That person was his most important person, above all of his other friends that person will be the most important.
But to his friends? He was always just a friend. He was something that would come secondary to everything else in their lives--especially if they had a romantic partner.
Another round of tears came, and he wiped the tears from his eyes. He was so alone.