Inner-Child: Protection at All Costs

Her tiny hand held in mine, the plump baby flesh barely fitting into my own. Her palm was sweaty and warm, her fingers cold by contrast. We stood together as one, staring at the crowd of people before us. With an urgent tug from her, I tore my eyes from the group, my attentions turned solely on to her.

Her face was frantic, eyes wild with fright and childish ire; I bowed my ear to her lips.

“I don’t like them.” She confided.

“Are you sure?” I questioned, my adult senses uncertain of her assessment. I glanced at the throng from the corner of my eye, not raising my head from her height.

“Ahuh,” she replied with a gulp of certainty.

Standing erect, I picked her up and held her close.

Wrapping her pudgy little arms around my neck, she buried her face in my hair.

The assembly smiled as one, the cracks in their faces meant to reassure me.

“Are you certain?” I whispered, hesitant to leave them.

“This will end badly if we don’t leave now.” she murmured in a chill of youthful fervor.

Brave girl, she dared turn her head and upper torso to face the assemblage.

With childish vociferation she pointed at them, “You’re bad people.”

Their leader started to protest, the horde following her lead. Pulling her tighter to me, I quickly turned my back on them. As I began to walk briskly away, one threw a rock and angry words to my retreating form.

Spinning on my heels to admonish them for their misdeeds, their true faces, marred by anger; the masks of insincerity slipped as melting wax; the undeniably monstrous faces no longer hidden behind the glamour, I gasped as I bit my tongue. No words could I say that would make a difference.

In hesitation I departed their abuse, and she, my precious bundle, melted back into the safety of me.