Young Writers Society

Freewrite this morning. Not really for anything - I was just testing out a new piece of writing software, and the first thing I saw to inspire me was 'Das Glasperlenspiel' or the Glass Bead Game, a novel I've got in German. I guess it's sorta practice for NaNo as well, as I was just churning it out, not really trying to get it to a certain level or anything - it has nothing to do with my NaNo's plot though.

The Glass Bead.

The glass bead rolled across the table, hitting the jagged wooden edges awkwardly, and fell to the floor. It bounced twice, glass against cold stone, before it was caught by a small boy, who grabbed it and jumped up victoriously.

"Ha! I caught it! Did you see that?"

The man who had dropped the bead sighed, gathering his papers into a somewhat organised heap, and held out his hand. The boy grinned as he dropped the bead into the man's open palm.

"Well," said the boy, arms crossed against his chest, "Aren't you going to say 'thank you'?"

"Is that what you want?"

"I just saved your marble!"

"Then thank you. But it's not even as important as a marble. I'm not even sure it's mine."

The boy cocked his head to one side, eyeing the man curiously. "Whadd'ya mean, you don't know?"

"Forget it. It's not important."

"No! I saved your marble. That means you owe me."

The man started to reach into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny copper piece.

"Is this what you want?"

"Hm." The boy snatched the coin, held it up to the light and examined it, before shoving it roughly into his trouser pocket. "You still owe me. What did you mean just then?"

"I didn't mean anything. And anyway, you're not getting any more from me. I didn't ask you to catch it. Here, have it if you like it so much." And the man pushed the small glass bead into the boy's hand, got up and started walking away.

The boy looked at the bead, cold and smooth, nestled in the sweat and dirt on his palm. It almost seemed to glow in the sunlight, full of colours like a stream at midday, or the bubbles that the other children were so amused by. He ran a finger over the bead, and it seemed it called to him, made him feel excited and uneasy all at once. He shivered and looked up, only to see the man disappearing around a corner.

"Hey! Hey, wait!" The boy cupped his hands around his mouth, as though speaking through a megaphone. "I don't want it!"

He started to run after the man, shouting after him, but stopped abruptly as he passed the corner. The man was on the ground, clutching at his heart, panting. His face was strained, eyes bulging, as he clung onto whatever was left. The boy stood in a panic, only able to watch as the man writhed, and fell forwards, his eyes glazed over. His papers were dirty, covered in dirt and dust from the streets, and spots of blood which the man had coughed up.

The boy reached towards him. Slowly. Hesitantly. He touched the man's skin, still warm, and watched his chest as it moved not an inch. There was no breath from the man's mouth, no movement from him at all. Panicked, the boy stepped away, turned and ran down the street, far too innocent a child to be able to cope with the death he had just witnessed.

All the while, the bead pulsed in his pocket, full of new blood, new life.