Beautiful Boy by 
Padfootatheart
Such a beautiful boy.
Really, he is.
He sits on my bed, smiling at me. He has a lovely round face with curly brown hair, much like the man who is in the bed next to me. I’ve never talked to the gentleman, but he seems nice enough. The boy’s face though, where have I seen it?
Ah, in the picture on my nightstand. Yes, the woman that laughs up at the camera, with wavy blonde hair loose around her jolly face. I like to look at the picture, because she always looks happy.
Just like this beautiful boy.
“You’ve gotten better since last time,” the woman beside him tells me.
I have?“Hello Mum,” he mumbles, almost with a fearful glance at me.
How endearing, this boy thinks I’m his mum. He must be confused though, for I have never seen him before.
I would’ve recognized such a beautiful boy.
“I’m Neville,” he says quietly, shadows from the curtains around us sit on his face, “do you remember me?”
Remember him?
I’ve never seen him.
I shake my head no and he keeps smiling at me. Not quite in the same way.
Not so happy.
Not so beautiful.
“It’s okay, you never do,” he says, sounding bitter.
I feel guilty for not remembering the boy.
“Come Neville,” the woman beckons.
Neville? Why does that sound so familiar?“We should be going.”
No wait, I know you Neville! I do!“Okay.”
Please don’t Neville.They turn to leave me.
Please, Neville.He looks back as he is pulled away by that woman.
That beautiful boy.
I must give him something, to show him that I do remember (even if I don’t).
I dig my hands into my pockets, because I’ve had an idea.
I pull the covers off hastily, so I can still catch him. I stand weakly for a moment, my bony knees knocking together from the strain of my weight. Somehow they begin to work and I walk out into the glaring light of the world past the curtain.
I squint my eyes and make a small grunting noise as I begin to drunkenly stagger toward his turned back.
He is talking with other people, so I tug on the ugly skirt of the old woman. She turns her eyes to me, she’s not unkind but she’s also not beautiful.
Not like that boy.
“Again?”
She isn’t pleased with my offering.
It doesn’t matter because it’s not for her.
“That’s nice Alice, dear,” she sighs.
But I am looking at the boy now as he smiles at me sadly.
Such a beautiful boy.
I do my best smile, because his face is beautiful as he takes the wrinkled wrapper of a cheerful yellow.
“Throw that away, she’s given you one every time we visit,” the woman insists.
I have?“Thanks Mum,” he says.
How endearing, this boy thinks I’m his mum.