Story for Children - Chapter 5

or

A for Adult Story - Chapter 1

The night little boy, V, witnessed, in person, the philosopher Bob expertly woo his six strings, he knew he would lose much sleep. The following nights were spent in pure torment. Drenched in soulful melodies rendered by Bob, V found himself violently thirsting to meet this myth, kiss his feet, serve the legend. Thus is the birth, the genesis of obsession. V could think of nothing else. Bob everywhere. Bob in everything. Food, delicious or otherwise, reeked of Bob. Routine work reminded him of Bob. Mindless gossip distilled to impromptu soliloquies on Bob. Sex, Bob. Wine, Bob. Music, Bob. Books, Bob. Bob, Bob, Bob, for eternity.

His friends were, not surprisingly, quite worried. "He's slipping to the sky," they would hwhisper. "Bob possesses the eerie power to set his lovers upon the route of no return, where no destiny exists to stir hope in the bosom. If V persists in this destructive love, we will lose him forever to the sky."
They spoke gentle words to him, offered gifts, tried diverting his mind to more fruitful hobbies, like horse riding. Their efforts were hopelessly doomed from the beginning. By the time they got wind of this insidious, one-sided religion, V found himself swirling, puppet like, in the rough storm unconsciously inflicted by Bob.

V spent more time with himself. Energy, he thought. This god brings me energy, while being curiously tiring, too. He slipped into endless worlds of mirrors. He met fellow Bobists living in his reflections. He needed no one else in his life.
"I need..," murmured V to himself softly. "Olive oil, mint, pesto, rice, herbs…""Excuse me… oh, I'm so sorry… Let me help you…"

V frowned. Stupid little girl, fucking bitch, he swore. Feet drenched in sunflower oil, he did not feel very forgiving.
The little girl stopped, suddenly, noticing his choice of music. "You listen to Bob!"
V nodded curtly.
"Whoever thought my loser-brother's music would be followed this wide!" She chuckled.

V froze. His blood pumped furiously through his veins. Bob's sister… he felt the urge to press his lips to the girl's. He felt himself grow. He fought the urge to lose himself in her tresses... He turned to the girl for the first time since their meeting.
Petite, with curly tresses, the little girl stood before him, glowing. Her eyes were liquid green, her lips cherry red, her skin toned down brown. The fingers were thin, lined with cuts – the gift of loving the six-string.