On all fours under the desk on the hot veranda, I try to get my phone to charge, when around the corner a little face appears. The Little Prince, I think, and say “hallo.” He is simply the most beautiful boy. And then, without warning, he runs over to me, gives me a hug, and whispers in my ear, “shara-lee-sheshe.” Suddenly I want to cry. I come from a country where children are taught not to trust strangers, but the children who grow up on boats run around the marina without a care in the world.
“Shara-lee-sheshe.” What does it mean. I take him around to the toilets. “Is this what you want, the toilets?” But no, this is not it. I call over to the moms at the big table, threading beads with their girls. “Oh yes, that one is mine!” says a young mother. I ask her what the Little Prince meant, and she kneels down for him to whisper to her as well.
“No, I don’t know either.”
But then it dawns on me. He cast a spell of happiness.
Beautiful!
LikeLike
Oloff, you should be a writer, the pictures just roll off your pen!
Keep it up…
LikeLike
I agree. Olaff, you have a hidden talent. Keep on writing. The Little Prince blessed you with his spell!
LikeLike
Love the drawing!!
LikeLike
Oloff, take every moment… this wonderful boy, he is not only in his body, iwhen you see his eyes, you can see his soul.
LikeLike