Cross
Age 5 / 452 words
Dennis, bored, wandered off while his father was talking with talking to the woman about the milk order for the orphanage. It was a grim, square building, surrounded by high railings. The courtyard was bare -- no fountain or even planters or anything. The room's had been modernised but they still bore more resemblence to prison cells than anything else. Dennis was extremely glad he didn't have to live here. Even just waiting for his dad was bad enough.
There was nothing to see from the front gates, and he knew better than to go outside, so he trudged back into the courtyard, turned an immediate left and began walking around it, trailing his fingers against the rough stone of the wall and the occasional wooden door. It was a hundred and sixty steps along a side, mostly because Dennis had very short legs, and still rather boring until, on the last wall, his fingers caught on an engraving in the stone.
It was quite old, the edges rubbed smooth: a circle cut in quarters by a cross. Dennis traced the outline with his fingers, first the outer curve, then the horizontal line, and finally the vertical.
"It's called the sun cross," said a voice from behind him.
Dennis turned and looked up, and up, and up some more, craning his head back as he followed the flowing locks of white beard all the way up to the half moon glasses and twinkling blue eyes.
"Hello!" He said. "I'm Dennis! You have a huge beard! Do you trip over it?"
"Only if I'm not being careful." The man smiled. "You can call me Al."
"That's a Paul Simon song!"
Al's smile got wider. "That's right. You're a very perceptive lad."
"I don't know what that means!" Dennis complained.
"It means you notice things, my boy. Like this." He reached past Dennis to touch the cross. "In the Mycenaean dialect, it's the symbol for the syllable 'ka', fate and the wheel. Everything returns to the beginning and everything comes around again."
"Like a Ferris wheel!" Dennis beamed.
Al chuckled. "Yes, just like. I think you better be getting back to your father, Dennis. You wouldn't want him to be cross."
Dennis eyed him suspiciously. "Was that a joke?"
"I'm afraid so," Al admitted. "It wasn't very good, was it?"
"Not really!" said Dennis. "But Dad says it's okay to be bad as things as long as you really, really tried your very, very best at them first!"
"A very wise man. Look, he's just done talking. Off you go."
"Okay! Bye, Al!" Dennis waved and ran off towards his father.
"Until we meet again," Al said quietly, and traced the cross with his fingertips.
Dennis, bored, wandered off while his father was talking with talking to the woman about the milk order for the orphanage. It was a grim, square building, surrounded by high railings. The courtyard was bare -- no fountain or even planters or anything. The room's had been modernised but they still bore more resemblence to prison cells than anything else. Dennis was extremely glad he didn't have to live here. Even just waiting for his dad was bad enough.
There was nothing to see from the front gates, and he knew better than to go outside, so he trudged back into the courtyard, turned an immediate left and began walking around it, trailing his fingers against the rough stone of the wall and the occasional wooden door. It was a hundred and sixty steps along a side, mostly because Dennis had very short legs, and still rather boring until, on the last wall, his fingers caught on an engraving in the stone.
It was quite old, the edges rubbed smooth: a circle cut in quarters by a cross. Dennis traced the outline with his fingers, first the outer curve, then the horizontal line, and finally the vertical.
"It's called the sun cross," said a voice from behind him.
Dennis turned and looked up, and up, and up some more, craning his head back as he followed the flowing locks of white beard all the way up to the half moon glasses and twinkling blue eyes.
"Hello!" He said. "I'm Dennis! You have a huge beard! Do you trip over it?"
"Only if I'm not being careful." The man smiled. "You can call me Al."
"That's a Paul Simon song!"
Al's smile got wider. "That's right. You're a very perceptive lad."
"I don't know what that means!" Dennis complained.
"It means you notice things, my boy. Like this." He reached past Dennis to touch the cross. "In the Mycenaean dialect, it's the symbol for the syllable 'ka', fate and the wheel. Everything returns to the beginning and everything comes around again."
"Like a Ferris wheel!" Dennis beamed.
Al chuckled. "Yes, just like. I think you better be getting back to your father, Dennis. You wouldn't want him to be cross."
Dennis eyed him suspiciously. "Was that a joke?"
"I'm afraid so," Al admitted. "It wasn't very good, was it?"
"Not really!" said Dennis. "But Dad says it's okay to be bad as things as long as you really, really tried your very, very best at them first!"
"A very wise man. Look, he's just done talking. Off you go."
"Okay! Bye, Al!" Dennis waved and ran off towards his father.
"Until we meet again," Al said quietly, and traced the cross with his fingertips.