Nicholas Button
Distressed and flabbergasted from witnessing the great rift between Estella and Ms. Havisham, I excused myself from the Satis House and went for a stroll about the town. Reminiscing would be the thing most would do at this time, but I could only think about the two women a mere couple of kilometres behind me. Lost in mind, but not in body, I walked with steady determination to the Three Men’s Barge. A pain impacted upon my chest, and surprised, I looked down to see a brown wool cap below me. The cap turned upwards, revealing a small boy, not particularly well-groomed and no more than perhaps 5 years of age, who looked at me with eyes the size of pounds.
“Sir! I’m so sorry sir!” he stammered as he laid his grubby hands upon my good coat to clean off any dirt he may have imposed upon my stature. I said nothing. Something about the boy haunted me; his curious eyes, his rough way of speech, the way he looked with fear upon anything larger than he (and that was a good plenty of things), they all seemed so familiar to me.
“What’s your name, son?”
“It’s Nicholas, sir! I’m terribly sorry ‘bout that. My mistake!”
“It’s fine, Nicholas. What are you doing out so late? Where is your father?”
“Erm… Mr. Button has departed –that is to say, no longer with us, sir. Me mum’s ill, you see, so I’s selling papers.”
I snapped my eyes away from that glance for mere moments to see the bundle of papers scattered on the ground.
“I see. Carry on then,” I said, coldly, as I quickly walked away from the small boy. Where had I seen him before? I asked myself. As a peered back, I saw the masses of the streets walk all over the boy’s papers as he scampered to salvage what he could from the rubble. Those eyes never got any smaller or any less familiar. It struck me on my way back to the Satis House that Nicholas reminded me of myself from but a few years ago. How strange it is that I should now be the one to strike fear upon him.
No comments:
Post a Comment