"They won't find me here." The boy told himself as he tried to keep his feet away from the light. He squeezed himself at the corner of the church, hiding behind the statues of the saints, and other objects that have been covered in dust.
There was no game of hide and seek. It wasn't even time for any games because it was class hour. His teacher was just outside, he could see her from the window and hear her voice. It was the same gentle yet authoritative sound that has kept him prim and proper inside the classroom. Yet here he is now, far from the voice that tamed him like a lamb. Officially, this is the first time he ever escaped classes, yet there was nothing for him to do. He just sat there, looking at the things around him.
There was nothing exciting about what he did. It wasn't in any way thrilling. Normally you'd see a child play with mud, or use the slide, or the swing, or the monkey bars, or the see-saw. But him, he chose not to do those things. He didn't want to see his friends and classmates. he didn't want to see his teacher. he didn't want anything to happen. He just wanted to be there; and he stayed. There were cobwebs around him and he tried to find the spider who owned them before.
"This is supposed to be their home." He whispered. "But all I can see are eggs without a mother." He looked at it carefully, piecing together the web lines in his head, deciphering what kind of infinite wisdom they could bring him.
Then there was dust; there was dust all around him. He pressed his finger on any surface and moved it forward, leaving a lump of brown on the finger that he used. He'd flick it away and repeat the process. Over and over again.
He was there, yet nobody saw him.
He soon grew up to have a habit of doing this. He hid himself. This time there was no church or corner to run to. This time he hid while facing everyone. He walked, he talked, he functioned in society yet he was never there. His mind always floated, picking up bits and pieces of the cosmic unknown scattered all around.
He tended to look to the sky, or observe things while people are talking. He made friends to whom he suppressed his desire to look into their very being; he was afraid that if he did this, he would hide even from his friends. This scared him, not because he had no faith that they could not find him; he was scared because he was certain that they wont even recognize that he's gone...and if that happened he had no intention of telling them.
He saved himself from disappearing by writing on paper. He stabbed each sheet and made them bleed in black, red, and blue. He kept writing stories, reminding himself "I am here. I am here." But then he'd wake up to the same cruel and ruthless world. He'd wake up to forest of wolves where all their fangs and claws are eagerly waiting for someone to fall, to show weakness, so that they could be devoured.
Every man for himself, and every person for his/her own interests. Nobody ever saw him because he was never someone significant. Nobody saw him because no matter how many good deeds he does, if nobody sees them then that's the same as doing nothing. Nobody saw him because he always hid behind his words, and they never made any effort to decipher all their meaning. Slowly, he got consumed until he learned to hide even from himself. Just like that day in school. Pushed to a dark, secluded corner, is a boy waiting to be found, hoping that one day he'd find a world more interesting than the cobweb with its withering eggs. After all...
He was there, but nobody saw him.