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The Dead Boy At Your Window

 
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The Dead Boy At Your Window
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JHL
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Post The Dead Boy At Your Window Reply with quote
THE DEAD BOY AT YOUR WINDOW

Bruce Holland Rogers


In a distant country where the towns had improbable names, a woman looked upon the unmoving form of

her newborn baby and refused to see what the midwife saw. This was her son. She had brought him forth

in agony, and now he must suck. She pressed his lips to her breast.
"But he is dead!" said the midwife.
"No," his mother lied. "I felt him suck just now." Her lie was as milk to the baby, who really

was dead but who now opened his dead eyes and began to kick his dead legs. "There, do you see?" And

she made the midwife call the father in to know his son.
The dead boy never did suck at his mother's breast. He sipped no water, never took food of any

kind, so of course he never grew. But his father, who was handy with all things mechanical, built a

rack for stretching him so that, year by year, he could be as tall as the other children. When he had

seen six winters, his parents sent him to school. Though he was as tall as the other students, the

dead boy was strange to look upon. His bald head was almost the right size, but the rest of him was

thin as a piece of leather and dry as a stick. He tried to make up for his ugliness with diligence,

and every night he was up late practicing his letters and numbers. His voice was like the rasping of

dry leaves. Because it was so hard to hear him, the teacher made all the other students hold their

breaths when he gave an answer. She called on him often, and he was always right.
Naturally, the other children despised him. The bullies sometimes waited for him after school,

but beating him, even with sticks, did him no harm. He wouldn't even cry out.
One windy day, the bullies stole a ball of twine from their teacher's desk, and after school,

they held the dead boy on the ground with his arms out so that he took the shape of a cross. They ran

a stick in through his left shirt sleeve and out through the right. They stretched his shirt tails

down to his ankles, tied everything in place, fastened the ball of twine to a buttonhole, and launched

him. To their delight, the dead boy made an excellent kite. It only added to their pleasure to see

that owing to the weight of his head, he flew upside down.
When they were bored with watching the dead boy fly, they let go of the string. The dead boy did

not drift back to earth, as any ordinary kite would do. He glided. He could steer a little, though he

was mostly at the mercy of the winds. And he could not come down. Indeed, the wind blew him higher and

higher.
The sun set, and still the dead boy rode the wind. The moon rose and by its glow he saw the

fields and forests drifting by. He saw mountain ranges pass beneath him, and oceans and continents. At

last the winds gentled, then ceased, and he glided down to the ground in a strange country. The ground

was bare. The moon and stars had vanished from the sky. The air seemed gray and shrouded. The dead boy

leaned to one side and shook himself until the stick fell from his shirt. He wound up the twine that

had trailed behind him and waited for the sun to rise. Hour after long hour, there was only the same

grayness. So he began to wander.
He encountered a man who looked much like himself, a bald head atop leathery limbs. "Where am I?"

the dead boy asked.
The man looked at the grayness all around. "Where?" the man said. His voice, like the dead boy's,

sounded like the whisper of dead leaves stirring.
A woman emerged from the grayness. Her head was bald, too, and her body dried out. "This!" she

rasped, touching the dead boy's shirt. "I remember this!" She tugged on the dead boy's sleeve. "I had

a thing like this!"
"Clothes?" said the dead boy.
"Clothes!" the woman cried. "That's what it is called!"
More shriveled people came out of the grayness. They crowded close to see the strange dead boy

who wore clothes. Now the dead boy knew where he was. "This is the land of the dead."
"Why do you have clothes?" asked the dead woman. "We came here with nothing! Why do you have

clothes?"
"I have always been dead," said the dead boy, "but I spent six years among the living."
"Six years!" said one of the dead. "And you have only just now come to us?"
"Did you know my wife?" asked a dead man. "Is she still among the living?"
"Give me news of my son!"
"What about my sister?"
The dead people crowded closer.
The dead boy said, "What is your sister's name?" But the dead could not remember the names of

their loved ones. They did not even remember their own names. Likewise, the names of the places where

they had lived, the numbers given to their years, the manners or fashions of their times, all of these

they had forgotten.
"Well," said the dead boy, "in the town where I was born, there was a widow. Maybe she was your

wife. I knew a boy whose mother had died, and an old woman who might have been your sister."
"Are you going back?"
"Of course not," said another dead person. "No one ever goes back."
"I think I might," the dead boy said. He explained about his flying. "When next the wind

blows...."
"The wind never blows here," said a man so newly dead that he remembered wind.
"Then you could run with my string."
"Would that work?"
"Take a message to my husband!" said a dead woman.
"Tell my wife that I miss her!" said a dead man.
"Let my sister know I haven't forgotten her!"
"Say to my lover that I love him still!"
They gave him their messages, not knowing whether or not their loved ones were themselves long

dead. Indeed, dead lovers might well be standing next to one another in the land of the dead, giving

messages for each other to the dead boy. Still, he memorized them all. Then the dead put the stick

back inside his shirt sleeves, tied everything in place, and unwound his string. Running as fast as

their leathery legs could manage, they pulled the dead boy back into the sky, let go of the string,

and watched with their dead eyes as he glided away.
He glided a long time over the gray stillness of death until at last a puff of wind blew him

higher, until a breath of wind took him higher still, until a gust of wind carried him up above the

grayness to where he could see the moon and the stars. Below he saw moonlight reflected in the ocean.

In the distance rose mountain peaks. The dead boy came to earth in a little village.
He knew no one here, but he went to the first house he came to and rapped on the bedroom

shutters. To the woman who answered, he said, "A message from the land of the dead," and gave her one

of the messages. The woman wept, and gave him a message in return.
House by house, he delivered the messages. House by house, he collected messages for the dead. In

the morning, he found some boys to fly him, to give him back to the wind's mercy so he could carry

these new messages back to the land of the dead.
So it has been ever since. On any night, head full of messages, he may rap upon any window to

remind someone - to remind you, perhaps - of love that outlives memory, of love that needs no names.


Copyright 1998 Bruce Holland Rogers

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Sun Jul 30, 2006 8:17 pm View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website AIM Address Yahoo Messenger MSN Messenger ICQ Number
tanom
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Post Reply with quote
wow.. talga naman.. di ko binasa kac ang taass.. ahehehe sorry po...

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Fri May 04, 2007 12:34 am View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website
Maya
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Post Reply with quote
hahaha ako binasa ko kahit mataas.. kasi di ko ma gets Blue_PDT_01_16

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If you have me, and I have you, then you and me have each other... Diba???
Fri May 04, 2007 10:32 am View user's profile Send private message Send e-mail AIM Address Yahoo Messenger ICQ Number
tanom
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Post Reply with quote
wahaha.. ganyan talaga! aheheh

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Thanks and best regards,
MMM
please visit:
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http://euts.wordpress.com
http://bisrocklyrics.blogspot.com
Fri May 04, 2007 11:24 pm View user's profile Send private message Visit poster's website
ice
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Post Reply with quote

binasa ko ... ang na gets ko lang un dead boy send messages from the dead to the living... very facinating kasi dead na siya nabuhay.. hay buhay
Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12

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ferdinand_lozada
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Post Reply with quote
dead messenger....
Sun Jun 03, 2007 12:42 pm View user's profile Send private message AIM Address Yahoo Messenger MSN Messenger
ice
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Post Reply with quote
ferdinand_lozada wrote:
dead messenger....




online siya...

Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12

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ferdinand_lozada
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Post Reply with quote
[/quote]

online siya...

Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12[/quote]

SINO ANG ONLINE? IYONG "THE DEAD BOY AT YOUR WINDOW"??? Blue_PDT_01_10

Sat Jun 09, 2007 9:27 pm View user's profile Send private message AIM Address Yahoo Messenger MSN Messenger
ice
Intel Duo Data Analyst
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Post Reply with quote
ferdinand_lozada wrote:


online siya...

Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12[/quote]

SINO ANG ONLINE? IYONG "THE DEAD BOY AT YOUR WINDOW"??? Blue_PDT_01_10
[/quote]


nakakatakot naman ... kung ganon ... awwoooooo

Blue_PDT_01_14

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ferdinand_lozada
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Post Reply with quote
HINDI NAMAN PO SIGURO NAKAKATAKOT KASI BASED PO DUN SA STORY, NAGDADALA LAMANG NG MESSAGE ANG DEAD BOY GALING DUN SA MGA PATAY NA LOVED ONES NG MGA BUHAY...
TAMA BA?
Blue_PDT_01_16
Sun Jun 10, 2007 12:21 pm View user's profile Send private message AIM Address Yahoo Messenger MSN Messenger
ice
Intel Duo Data Analyst
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Joined: 26 Jun 2006
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Post Reply with quote
ferdinand_lozada wrote:
HINDI NAMAN PO SIGURO NAKAKATAKOT KASI BASED PO DUN SA STORY, NAGDADALA LAMANG NG MESSAGE ANG DEAD BOY GALING DUN SA MGA PATAY NA LOVED ONES NG MGA BUHAY...
TAMA BA?
Blue_PDT_01_16



yap nagdadala lang nga pero to think of that "what does the dead boy look like?" diba parang nakakatakot sa description doon?
Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12 Blue_PDT_01_12

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