Shredlet I–IV

Shredlet I

Stranger’s hands placed him on her mother’s chest. “About the size of a milk carton,” the woman thought, gazing at the infant. The child lay on her body – silent, still, unknown to the world, and even to himself. Something about him reminded her of something carelessly spilled on the ground. She burst into tears – astonished and overwhelmed.

“Why did you give him to me dead? I don’t need this,” the woman said, pain sharp in her voice, as she tried to push the tiny body aside – like something irrelevant. But the movement startled the premature infant. He flinched, then painfully drew in a breath of foreign air – and lived. Like everyone else, he stayed alive. Forcing his lungs into motion through sheer effort, he searched blindly for the breast. His dry mouth brushed against his mother’s hospital gown, and when he met resistance – an obstacle, a boundary – he screamed in fear and sudden loneliness.

Shredlet II

He was brought in and left there. He stood at the far end of the narrow room, between rows of identical furniture, gazing out the window. Through the glass, and through his own tears, he saw the courtyard. In the small, enclosed space, other children were playing. The hazy outlines of their bodies drifted and shifted, moving as one, uninterrupted, in the gray morning light. Driven by some vague unrest, they changed places erratically – gathering close for a moment, then scattering again – forming brief, flickering groups that held for a breath before dissolving back into separate, aimless movements. So it went, again and again, yet never repeated. “Like dry leaves in the wind,” he thought, mourning the rootlessness of life beyond the window – and the growing emptiness within himself.

“What are you doing here all alone? The others have been outside for ages,” came a voice above him. A hand grabbed him by the hood, tugging him toward the door.

“Don’t,” he said in a pitiful voice. “I’ll die out there.”

“What nonsense is that? Die? Rubbish! Look out the window – see how everyone’s having fun? Off you go, to the yard!”

“My soul is already stuck in my throat,” he whispered, trying to start crying again.

“Oh no, here we go again! Didn’t we make it clear yesterday that it’s over? Your mother came and everything. Still clinging to that old rag, are you? You really are something! Fine then – just stop sniveling. I’ll allow it today, but if I see it again, it’s going in the trash! Now off you go – where is it, anyway? And wipe your nose!”

He didn’t hear the words, but he understood what they meant. He ran to his locker. From the dark corner he dug out a small piece of cloth – a worn scrap, all that remained of his mother’s shirt. Time had worn it thin and drained it of colour. He pressed it to his tear-wet face and breathed in the scents that reminded him of home, of his mother, of her body and breast milk. Little by little, he calmed down – and then he went outside.

Shredlet III

In the game, it was just as unclear how or when one was meant to act. So, having started at random, everyone simply carried on, imitating one another. “Head, foot, head, foot…” he repeated as he ran, his mind tense rather than joyful, no longer hearing himself amid the clamour of the game. Afraid to stop, he kept shouting strange, mismatched words into the noise. Then, suddenly, the chaos fell still. The children gathered in silence, forming a circle – one of them left alone in the middle. Whether from the strain of playing or simple bodily weakness, one of the boys had failed to notice his need – and had wet himself. Now, staring at the dark stain on his trousers, he felt naked and utterly alone. He had not been given the gift of speech, and he didn’t know how to defend himself with words. Hiding his face in his hands, he lay flat on his stomach, trying to cover up his accidental shame. The others stood around him, uniformly looking at his outstretched body. Then, just for fun, someone stepped forward and placed a foot on him – triumphantly.

“That’s right, serves him well – his own fault!” a voice called from the sidelines. Emboldened by the encouragement, the one who had stepped on him now placed both feet on the prone figure and stepped across to the other side. The circle of onlookers, until then motionless, gave a collective shudder and slowly pressed inward, tightening into a mass. Without command, they fell into line. One by one, they stepped over the boy who had surrendered – his body now turned into a kind of boundary. And so they crossed him, one after another.

Shredlet IV

He was the last. On the other side stood the others, watching him with a silent, expectant urgency. He looked down at the one lying there and realised: he had to take a few steps, place his foot on the other’s back, and cross over to where the rest were. “Lying there like some kind of fence,” he muttered, then ran to his little locker. There, he breathed in the scent of the shredlet for a long time. Overcoming his shyness, he muttered something to himself and skipped back toward the others, who had meanwhile scattered and returned to running and playing as before. Only the shamed one still lay on the ground. As he drew near, he gathered his courage and leapt lightly over him, then hurried to rejoin the game. Caught in the breeze stirred by his eager movement, the forgotten shredlet fluttered in his hand like a small, tattered flag.