a narrative by Terrel
Out of all the things he had at one point, something made Todd move. He did not know what it was. Maybe it was the digital screens that were overlaid with color on the skyscraper that seemed to pounce on that lonely glass tower giving it light, like a match for a very tall lamppost. He was hypnotized when he saw those buildings, lights glistening as he viewed it from the window. This is where he needed to be. Times Square was calling to him, asking him to come home like Little Bo Peep calling for her lost sheep. But Todd was not lost. As soon as the pearlish and crimson lined plane alighted, the little boy knew where to go first.
When Todd arrived at LaGuardia Airport, it took a while but Todd found his taxi. This one particular taxi had a tuscan sun hue, and it was waiting for him. Patiently. As they, Todd and the driver, departed on their way to West 36th South, more and more taxis built up around Todd’s. The taxis were all lined up making it hard to crave space trying not to let others skulk in between them like a lonely kernel on a cob of corn. The colors of the outside world beyond his taxi were a beautiful sight and went flickering and pleading viewers to lure them into their trance. Todd was one of those hypnotic suspects. The gaze was too strong, but he conquered it. Colors danced like waves on a current. This was better than his window seat on the plane. The little boy asked Joseph, the driver, to stop him near a McDonald’s on 220 West 42nd Street; but as soon as he stepped out, the smell of pungent and foul taxi exhaust evanesced and a new smell took its place, pushing the exhaust out of the way. The fumes of the remaining taxis had one goal: to desire a nose from each tourist and to glide swiftly into them like an ice skater frisking on a rink. Other than that, he saw many billboards, musicals like The Lion King, The Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables and Something Rotten! Aside from the graceful images portrayed gallery style, Todd had been tasting things he did not want to. Sleeves. The people, like ants striding in a curious manner.
And him? The little boy just tasted people’s sleeves, bumping and being pushed around like a tiny pinball in a monstrous arcade machine. Suffocation nearly possessed him. The only thing that saved him was a siren, wailing loudly, whistling an annoying high pitched tune, soaring into his ear making Todd look at the sound’s maker. A police car. Todd tried to escape the crowd’s clutches and the siren’s song; and when he did, he took a deep breath, opened and saw the centerpiece of the whole table. He was smack in the middle of New York. He smiled. He was where he belonged. But he did not know that yet. He was from the country.
Terrel is in 9th grade. He says, “I have been writing for quite a while and my dream is to be an author. I hope to publish more pieces on your magazine if allowed.”