The Bracelet

The thought of her was uncontrollable. His mind became a squishy goo whenever she walked past. Hidden in his pocket was the bracelet he had purchased, a token of his adoration, one meant for her wrist and hers alone.

His feet tapped nervously on the ground. The lights flickered to the beat of his heart. Brought to his knees, he stood in her tracks. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the gift.

She was surprised at first and then somewhat creeped out. Did she not like it? he asked himself. Embarrassment grabbed him by the collar and shook all dignity he had from his shoulders.

The palm of his hand felt stickier than usual. Odd, he thought, and then the realisation hit him like the slap she had placed on his cheek moments later. It achingly pulsed, the red handprint marking his pitied face.

He had reached into the wrong pocket. What he had pulled out was a rotten piece of orange from the week before.

The chance at love, though young he was, had been foiled. Never again would he see eye-to-eye with her again. The beauty of her face trapped behind a wall of memory, a barricade of poor impression. Her contempt towards him circled his crown.

Goodbye third-grade love.