Wells Penn

The song started steady, sweetly, and soft as it had every night for years. The song knew it was important; it carried the child to sleep each night, easing him from the long day into the cushion of night. It lulled him into the comfort and peace of sleep. It brought pleasant dreams of candy and Christmas mornings, dragons and horses, family and wonder. The song had watched the young boy grow. Since he was still in the mother’s belly, the song would wrap around them, providing safety, warmth, and love.

Tonight, the song felt different. As it started once again, it noticed the boy had changed. He no longer held his mother so tightly. He no longer clutched his stuffed bear to his chest. His legs filled the bed just a bit more. His brown hair fell fast, his closed eyes twitching, soft lashes brushing his cheeks, catching the faint glow of the nightlight.

The song kept on, steady, sweetly and soft as it always had. The song knew, however, that it was ending soon. The boy didn’t need it anymore. He was growing. As the boy’s breath became slow and deep, the song got quieter and faded to a whisper. As the song gave the boy its final note, it felt itself leave the room. It left him with sadness and longing, but also with a quiet, lingering tenderness. As the song reflected, it knew it had given the boy everything it could. The song disappeared, finally knowing love and pride like no other.