Kyle always knew he was different. Despite countless times he had been reassured, told that he was loved, he never seemed to feel less empty. As if he was all alone, yet surrounded by people.
This morning began like any other. Woken up by his mother, he went through the motions of a regular day. School was followed by supper with his family, and after this he found himself at the shopping mall with his mother. That is when it happened- Kyle looked up, blankly scanning the crowd. There was no sign of the familiar body and face that he knew to be his mother. Being a child presented certain disabilities in terms of height, and the young boy's vision was crowded by rushing bodies of all colours at waist height. Panic began to set in.
With eyes heavy full of tears, Kyle clutched his stuffed bear tightly. Its soft brown fur brought him only the slightest bit of comfort, and he inhaled heavily in order to suppress his tears. A dry, musty smell filled his nose and the sound of footsteps seemed to thunder around him. Footsteps everywhere, yet no familiar clicking of his mother's heels. Oh, how he longer to be wrapped in her cold and rigid, yet comforting arms.
Kyle often wondered why he was different. Moreover, he longed to know why everyone around him couldn't tell. He squeezed lightly on his own arm, pondering his own soft, warm flesh. He looked closely at the tiny hairs that covered it and then back up to the crowd. Closely examining those around him, he noted that no one else had these tiny hairs. Was he sick? Dying perhaps, but no one wanted him to know so they wouldn't tell him? Kyle yearned to know.
A man bumping into him jerked Kyle our of his thoughts and back into his current situation. Still no sign of his mother. His tongue felt huge in his mouth, yet dry and sticky. His mouth tasted stale and his palms became clammy. The sudden realization of how much his feet ached drove Kyle to fund a bench and sit down. Lonely and afraid, he was left to his thoughts, and to his thoughts he returned.
Feeling the sweat on his hands, though about his friends. Their hands had never became wet like this, or else he had not noticed. They, too, were cold and stiff.
Kyle's head felt stuffy, as if it were packed with tightly-fitted tissue paper. He felt the wetness of a single tear as it rolled down his cheek. He had never been lost before. Instinctively reacting to the cold, wet feeling, he pressed his stuffed friend against his face. It was fluffy and comforting, but blocked his vision. He did not notice the single figure approaching him.
"Kyle?" The woman said to the crying boy alone on the bench. Her voice echoed through his head, pulling him back to reality once more. "Thank goodness, I have been looking all over for you! Come, let's go home now." The boy immediately jumped with sudden enthusiasm to embrace his mother. A soft, hollow thud sounded as he ran into her. She bent over and hugged him, and wiped her dry blue sleeve on his face to dry his tears. Hand in hand, the two left the mall.
Clinging tightly to the cold, rigid hand he knew so well, the thought crossed his mind once more: Why am I different? He would find out. Someday, somehow, he decided, he would learn why he was so unlike everyone else. But for now, he had the comfort of his mother's firm hand. He was safe now. Someday would learn about himself, but for now he was happy just to be found.
http://io9.com/5907815/concept-art-writing-prompt-a-lonely-child-on-the-planet-of-robots
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