Falling Sun

The sun is bright, shining yellow against the deep blue sky. It sits. It hovers above air and land and sea,
ever present.
And so it shines.
Most days, the boy feels the rays penetrate his skin like the seeping of warm ocean waters –
wish-wash, wish-wash.
He feels the sun touch and seep, yet he is filled with no warmth.
And so he stands,
cold.
This coldness makes him wonder:
Am I okay? Is this normal?
And so he stands, wondering – pondering.
As time passes by, the rays increase in intensity, shaking him from head to toe. He looks at his arms – so brightly illuminated – and he watches as his dark hairs slowly grow tall.
It is as if he is a porcupine, preparing for attack. But there is no danger –
the sun shines brightly, a yellow yolk against the sapphire sky.
But he wouldn’t shiver, was there no danger.
He is cold. Not scared.
But maybe I should be, he thinks.
He is not.
The sun shines brightly.
On this day, the boy stands outside, and he realizes:
the sun does not move.
He stands there many an hour, imitating the stationary sun.
He wonders again. The sun sits high, right above his head.
Maybe that is the danger.
It wants to fall on my head, and burn me, he thinks.
But maybe this is no danger, because after all,
he is cold.
So now he sits, awaiting the actions of the sun.
The bright saffron star shines. Nothing happens.
The boy remains seated, still cold,
still waiting.
But waiting is tedious –
tiresome –
and so his eyes begin to droop.
The rays still shine, peeking through his half-shut lids.
Rebecca David
2nd period
9/25/2019
His head droops now –
he is asleep.
And so the boy sleeps, and the sun
does not.
He sleeps many an hour, body shivering,
sun burning.
The boy awakes. He looks around, at his body –
there are no burns. Only hairs, standing tall like summer grass. No rays, no warmth, no sun.
And so he shivers.
And shiver he will,
until one day the sun decides to move –
to fall –
again.