“The Children Ran To See”

“Contestant winner number two, please come up to the stage.” A Booming voice plays through the

loudspeaker to the pavilion. The young man of 25, medium build with brown hair makes his way through

the professional crowd attending the DNA seminar. He walks up the three stairs to join the MC on stage

and the MC leads the young man to the chair. An assistant brings out an envelope and hands it to the

MC.

“Contestant number two, what is your name? Please say it into the mic so the crowd can hear.” The

MC asks. The young man stands and makes his way to the microphone.

“My name is Mark Brown.” He says to the audience.

“But this congregation won’t falter! No, we will stand strong as one, focused on the word and follow

it to the end. It has been foretold that these times would come and now that they have we have no

other choice than to be reaffirmed in our belief and press on. Never forget, as so many of out brothers

and sisters have, that our Father told us; ‘Be still and know that I am God.’” The present congregation

lets out its roar of applause and cheering as the preacher steps off from his podium and into the back

hall bringing his service to a close.

Among the wild crowd stands a young boy, no older than seven, clapping along with his parents but

with no clue as to why. The white noise fades and the peaceful atmosphere deserved to such a place is

returned.

“He’s the next Martin Luther King.”

“Best one yet and he’s right, we have nothing to be worried about.”

The young boy hears pieces of the conversation between his parents from the backseat.

“Mom and dad… am I supposed to be scared?” He asks.

“Oh no, baby. As long as you follow your dad and me and try to listen to the pastor you have

nothing to worry about. Just think about it like God threw us a curveball.” The young boy’s mom

answers.

“Why?” He returns.

Well, that’s why you have to go to church so you can find out.” His dad responds, “And I don’t want

you to hang out with your friends anymore, son. We can’t take any chances.”

“Why?” The boy asks again.

“Don’t ask why; just do as the pastor, your mother and I say.” His father responds.

“How can I not see my friends when they’re in my class?” The boy asks, not confident in thinking he

knows what is taking place.

“That won’t be a problem. Tomorrow we’re pulling you from school. School systems throughout the

country are considering shutting down.” The mother says in a monotone voice gazing out of her

window. The boy leans back in his seat and begins to wonder if God could teach him how to throw a

curveball.

“Charlie? Charlie?” The schoolteacher repeats, looking around her classroom during roll call to a

more than half empty room.

“Charlie isn’t in school anymore.” Owen, Charlie’s neighbor and best friend, informs the teacher.

“Are you sure, Owen?” She asks.

“Yes, he told me last night while we were trying to build a stick fort. Then his mom came out and

took him inside…” Owen trails off in thought and proceeds to ask the question that seems to be on every

child’s mind; “Mrs. Holzman, what did his mom mean when she told Charlie that creation is pure and

not to be shared with my type?”

“Owen… it seems that no one has the right answ…” She breaks off as Owen continues; “Then his

dad came out and pushed in our fort of sticks and told me to go home.”

Owen lives next door to Charlie and that has been their living situation for all of their seven years. It

was once the time that Owen and Charlie spent every day together playing in the neighborhood and

Charlie’s parents even inviting him to stay for dinner or spend the night on occasion. But as Owen

trekked home five blocks to his home after school he wondered to his innocent seven year old self why

those days had so quickly passed and why he was walking alone in what seemed a ghost town.

Owen walks into his house after glancing to the house next door and sees the usual scene of his dad

reading one of his many books on just as many subjects.

“Hey, buddy, how was school?” The dad asks looking up from his page.

“Dad, I don’t want to go anymore. Charlie is gone and most of my class is gone.” He sets his

backpack on the ground and walks towards his dad, “Why do I have to stay?” He asks. His dad sets his

book down and takes off his glasses. “Owen, come sit with me for a minute.”

Owen finds a seat on the floor in the small living room and sits quietly. His dad rubs his eyes and

begins to explain to his son, “Owen. I’m going to tell you something now that you won’t understand but

that hopefully you’ll want to come to understand in the future; and the only way to do this is for you to

continue school. A man once said that he pointed at the moon and all people did was stare at his finger.

Son, the reason why you can’t quite school isn’t only because you don’t want to be one of those staring

at his finger, but because you want to be the one who directs the man’s finger in the right direction

when he’s mislead in thinking he’s pointing at the moon. Now, go wash up for dinner, you’re mom will

be home soon.”

Owen lays in his bed fruitlessly attempting to figure out the odd metaphor his dad gave to him as a

reason to continue school. Even though his dad, who he has never doubted, is telling him to stay in

school he can’t help but feel despair as the world he has barely laid eyes on in his youth is apparently

crumbling he thinks to himself while he stares at his nightlight.

There’s a quiet knock that breaks Owen of his daze. He lies still in his bed trying not to make a noise

to see if he can hear it again. Another louder knock comes from outside his room. Although held in place

by his fear, the curiosity that comes with the age leads him to the light by the door. He flicks it on and,

naturally being unable to see into the night, he cautiously approaches the window with squinted eyes.

He places his face against the window and sees a slight outline before another knock that causes him to

fall backwards onto the ground. After a few seconds of being frozen in his place, Owen realizes that the

knock is coming from his best friend and neighbor, Charlie.

Owen carefully opens his ground floor window to the delight of Charlie whose face is bright red

from the cool night air.

“Charlie, what are you doing?” Owen nervously asks, casting occasional glances in hopes that the

hall light leading down to his parents’ room doesn’t turn on.

“Please let me in, my face is almost numb.” Charlie begs.

“Okay, but hurry, my parents are asleep.” Owen returns. “Shh!” Owen quietly exclaims holding a

finger to his lips after Charlie knocks over a few books from Owen’s shelf.

“What’re you doing? You’re going to get in trouble if your parents catch you.” Owen asks a second

time to Charlie.

“I heard my parents talking after dinner about some guy who is making everyone act so crazy. I’m

scared, Owen. They were saying they were worried about me and how it’s too late for others and I think

they meant you.” Charlie states.

“Why me?” Owen asks in bewilderment.

I don’t know.” Charlie continues, “I have no idea what’s happening. All I know is my parents said I

have to listen to our pastor and them and I can’t hang out with you anymore.” Charlie informs Owen,

aimlessly following his parents and causing Owen to grow more uncomfortable by the second.

“Who’s the guy that’s making everyone act this way?” Owen asks.

“I can’t remember now.” Charlie responds, “But I think I know what to do.”

“What?” Owen inquires.

“I need to save you or something. Every Sunday after church I’ll try to come tell you what happened.

My parents said that’s the only way I won’t need to be worried so you have to listen.” Charlie finalizes.

“I don’t know, Charlie. My dad told me…” Owen begins before he’s interrupted.

“It might be too late for your dad. You have to listen to me. I need to get back home before my

parents come to check on me though.” Charlie says, making his way back to Owen’s window. Owen

stands in complete confusion, torn between running to his dad, asking him about everything Charlie has

said and just trusting the only friend he seems to have left. As Charlie sets his las foot outside on his way

back home he turns in remembrance and relays to Owen, “Owen, I think the guy’s name is Mark

Brown.”

“Okay, Mark Brown, go ahead and take a seat and we’ll get this going.” The MC says as Mark Brown

steps away from the microphone.

Mark Brown nervously and excitedly takes his seat and watches the MC whisper with the technician

as it seems there may be a problem.

“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a slight problem. This would be a good time to talk

with the people next to you or use the bathroom. We should have this fixed within the next five

minutes.” The MC states. Mark Brown takes this chance to make his way backstage in order to find the

first contestant.

“Hey. Billy, right?” Mark Brown asks approaching the other contestant who is making use of the nice

food spread provided.

“Right,” The contestant named Billy mutters with his mouth full, “Give me a second will you.” Mark

Brown waits as Billy empties his mouth rather inappropriately into his napkin.

“So, you’re the other lucky winner, huh.” Billy starts while eyeing Mark Brown. “One piece of advice,

Mr. Brown…”

“Call me Mark.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I came in here hoping to have the DNA of someone, well, at least

someone better than just some forgotten Greek poet. I was thinking like, Ghandi or Alexander the Great.

Hell, even Jesus.” Billy laughs and continues complaining, “Maybe if that were the case they’d let me

leave this God-awful boring presentation and not make me answer questions from the audience. Do me

a favor, man, be related to someone great then use that to get us out of here.”

“Mark Brown?” The MC comes from around the curtain and sees