Into The Wild: A Fictional Narrative

tyler is small. he always has been. from birth, to (though he doesn't know for sure) death. everything about him is small. his hands, his arms, his legs. but inside, there was something there, crawling out. clawing out. it screams, and tears at the cage it's entrapped in.

tyler lets it out sometimes. when he screams to no one in particular, surrounded by the silence of the forest. he'll beat sticks on the ground and tear flowers to shreds.

savagely.

he believes it's the devil. or something not unlike him. the black curves around his bones and every singular nerve inside his skin. no part of him is safe except for a square inch inside his heart. he's saved it for the boy with the pastel pink hair.

he sits near him in the courtyard outside.