Blue Eyes

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     A small boy ran, frothing at the lips, across a busy street.  His face was covered in mud and excrement, and his azure eyes reflected deep pools of immense sorrow.  His story was his own, and his life was coming to an end, for as he raced off toward his goal at the other side, he was met with the fender of a racing taxi whose driver mindlessly plugged away at his cell phone.  There was no scream, only a small thud as the boy's brains escaped his skull onto the pavement.  Before his soul departed and rushed off toward that deep, dark oblivion of death, those blue eyes popped out and saw the air like never before.  The driver just sat there, dazed, watching his whole life as he knew it come to an end.
     The boy's name was Nathan, and he had been beaten daily by an abusive foster mother.  Her eyes were opposite his, a dark blue of hatred that saw nothing but murky water and the soft lullaby of the drink.  She meant no harm, but in her eyes he was disobedient, shirking his chores to join the other boys in the street and their games.  Despite the physical pain, he was just happy to be outside of that dreary orphanage he'd known since birth.  Mother meant no wrong, he'd surmise.  She was just lost and unhappy that daddy had left with the maid, that ebony woman with the long hair and teeth.  All in all, he had everything he needed.  But there was one thing mother couldn't give him.  It was that blue bicycle he'd always wanted, the one the other kids had and took turns riding through those puddles they pushed him into.  Terrible, he would say.  Just plain terrible.
     For months he was alone and without possession.  But then dream became reality.  Mother stood there at his apartment's stoop, a liar, clutching the ribbon-adorned thing he could never have.  He remembered seeing the cloudy ribbon in the living room, thinking nothing of its origin or portent.  That was glee for his poor soul, pure and simplistic and absolutely amazing.  The sky was perfect blue, the bike was perfect blue, and the vision was a picturesque masterpiece.  So, naturally, he ran.