SMOKIE

Dangerous is the quest of the cute little stepping hopping cave explorer. On his cute little baby face sweet brown freckles soak up the sun and rattle like m&m’s when he’s hopping. Up and down, rattle rattle, up and down, they do their happy rattle. In his cute baby eyes there’re two oceans that glitter and sparkle, and when they rise - they run salty waves into every corner of those cute baby eyes and the waves crash there and burst into salty fountains and overflow the brims and run in tiny rivers down his sweet cheeks. Splash splash bubble they go running down. And then they dry up as he hops away, and only little salty trails remain, as if a little salty snail slithered across that baby face. In his cute baby hair four winds play together and braid it and unbraid it, and lift it and blow it and twist it and knot it until he reaches with his cute hand to catch the playful winds and chase them away and he hops laughing with the naughty winds spinning around his hair. Whiz whiz they go spinning. His sweet baby heart goes hop tum boom like a joyful crazy drum to lead the way and speed up the hopping when playtime comes, and slow it down again when sleep is about. Hop tum boom beats his sweet baby heart.

Inward is the journey of the cute little stepping hopping cave explorer. His heart was stolen at night! Whose was the hand that stole the hopping heart? Whose was the jealousy that thieved his joy? Whose was the spell that brought about a sleep so deep that made the theft happen? And when the sweet pea baby boy woke up – he froze in fright and cried for days, and cried for years, and cried out for his stolen heart. Sob sob he cried for years. In the hole where the sweet baby hop tum boom once sounded, the thieving hand placed a pompous jelly blob that squelched and growled darkly and pumped in and pumped out according to its own rhythm. Schlap schlap it went, schlamp schlamp it pumped. And so he cried, and cried so much that the two oceans in his eyes ran dry and they no longer burst in salty fountains and they no longer left salty trails on his sweet baby cheeks. And winds no longer played with his hair as there was no joy in the sweet hopper and he could not hop to chase the playful winds away. Sweet brown freckles grew paler and paler as the sweet hopper no longer walked into the sun as his sweet baby chest hurt in daylight. It never wanted to heal up, it never wanted to embrace the pompous jelly blob... So his sweet chest never closed up again, and everyone could see what strange new heart he had inside, and everyone could stick their finger to touch it, and it hurt this sweet little hopper so much that he was afraid to sleep lest somebody’d creep up to touch. So he half-slept for many many nights, keeping one eye on his chest for an hour and then the other eye for another hour, so that trespassers could not scorn the pompous sponge that replaced his heart.
But everybody was curious, and no one could believe the word of mouth unless they touched the sponge, so they kept coming. And they were cunning. They were luring from the east, when the sweet little hopper stepper was looking towards the west, and they stuck their fingers out to reach. And when they couldn’t reach, they would grow long nails only to be able to touch the strange pompous heart the sweet boy was carrying in his sweet little chest. He was no longer able to sleep, as he needed both the eyes opened at the same time at night, and he was getting so tired that he nearly fell asleep walking, and when he could no longer live like that - he ran away. He ran and ran for days, and crossed many streams, and they didn’t go splash splash under his foot as he ran. And he ran across dozens of meadows but they didn’t go hush hush under his foot either. And he hopped over a thousand trees, but they never went tap tap tap under his foot. They were only amazed at his strange new heart.
So he found a big leaf and he wrapped it around his chest to hide his sponge heart. Then he found another leaf and wrapped it around the first one. And so he kept finding new big leaves to wrap himself into. And he wrapped them carefully and neatly. Soon he started looking like a big green cigar with hopping legs, and the new friends he made would call him Smokie.
They did not know why he was wrapping himself in leaves, but they loved him regardless of that strange habit. They spent a lot of time together, they laughed and laughed some more, sang and danced, they were playing hide n’seek and Smokie would always hide in the trees so no one could find him, and then he would just jump off the tree and laugh and be happy and his friends would laugh with him and they loved one another so much.
But still there were millions of others who were asking about those leaves and they were trying to look under and to poke their fingers to see what was beneath. So the sweet little stiff like a cigar hopper stepper was so scared they might discover his sponge heart that he ran away again, at night, and ran for days and days, away from friends who loved him regardless of his strange leaves, and he ran and ran until it started to get dark and rocks on the path grew bigger and bigger and soon they were so big that they were like mountains, and they closed down on the little cute hopper from all four corners of the path and formed a cave that was calling his name.

He stood there, frozen in fright, facing that cave. Behind him, the boy heard a million of voices of the curious ones, with arms stretched out like sticks, so eager to uncover his heart and touch it. And among those, the voices of friends, voices of love, they too were crying from afar.
The heart inside of him stopped. One last remaining salty tear ran down and burnt his pale cheek. One last stroke of the wind combed its windy nails through the boy’s curls.

In he goes now. In in and away, his silhouette on a decline, and his stepping more distant and slower as he fumbles into the darkness.