Letting it Go

He sat on the building’s rooftop, his feet swinging into the air. The smoke had long gone, as had the explosions. Now there were simply bumps and lines jutting across the skyline. To the right there was a black and silver half-circle; to the left, a square made of green.

The light of the dawn sneaked through the gaps in the concrete and steel, it made the air shimmer and distort. Coloured shadows appeared, ones that had tricked the boy’s mind into seeing people long dead. People who had been five foot tall but now towered hundreds of metres from sky to ground.

He started to whistle, low at first—the sound one can only make if they’ve practiced. Then his rhythm picked up, faster and higher it went, twittering with the birds above him. He tapped his legs in time to an old beat, a structure that had been burned into his mind.

As the sun rose, he continued. His hands did not sweat, his body did not pause or appear to tire. The sounds he made rippled across the land, travelling down the tower, through the streets and into the forest. “Let it go,” he sung in the middle of the day.  Then again when the light had faded.

At night, the green moon reflected off his white eyes making them seem as if he came from an alternative world. Yet, he was one of ours. Not the last one, but close.

A bat the boy had named Luis screeched and landed next to his legs. It wobbled over, its sharp teeth glittering under the stars with a jade hue.

“How long’s it been now?” the boy asked, not turning to see his companion. “A century?”

The bat climbed onto his leg, its claws drawing blood.

“I should find him,” he said. “I should kill him. Humanity deserves it.” He paused, and stroked the flying creature. “I’ve killed before. And…anyway, he’s only my father. I’ve got to let that go.”

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