In the neglected field behind his house, the young boy lies, blue eyes wide and to the sky. Clouds and sun and winds roll over the boy, nestled, still, amid the long and wild grass.
The last warm breath of the day imbues the world's greens and browns and blues with a mauvish chrysanthemum hue—the boy a darkening spot against the darkening Earth.
Silent, somewhere past midnight, frost is forming, but the boy stays static and unmoving as the rounds of too many voices cry out his name. Torchlight flickers over him and casts the slender shadows of the grass across his face where the boy's lips are as blue as his eyes, still wide and to the sky.
Sean Cunningham is twenty-three, from Liverpool, and recently completed a BA in English Literature. His writing consists of very short poetry and prose and has appeared in Moonchild Magazine, Bending Genres, and Gone Lawn, among others. He can be found on Twitter at @sssseanjc.