They said the town had one perfect person. A male they assumed, one whose name they had no idea of nor whose facial features they recognized. But almost everyone in this little town nestled in the mountains insisted he existed. They swore he hid in the thick bush close to the train tracks.
Children claimed they had seen the perfect person slipping through alleys at sunrise but he always left something close to a miracle behind. He returned people’s lost cats, fixed broken bicycles, and helped the silver-haired who had lost their sight with their leaky roofs or aching knees. Some people pretended not to believe these stories, but secretly checked their gardens each morning for unexplained blossoms.
One evening, Mara decided she’d had enough of the myth. Perfection didn’t exist, she’d learned that from mirrors, and from the way people loved with conditions like fine print. So she followed the rumors like a map, determined to find this perfect person.
Into the hush, down Maple Street, where streetlights lacked glow, she went. The town was small, so she knew where to look. While searching stealthily, she saw a figure, hunched down, leaning against a wall overgrown by moss. A faint ray of light from the train station nearby slipped through the trees, revealing his appearance. His jacket was torn at the sleeve, but his eyes were soft and weary.
“What do you want?” He mumbled as Mara inched forward.
“You’re the one they call the perfect person true?” She drawled. He shrugged, rejecting it as if the word perfect was a coat he hated and didn't want to wear.
“I’m just someone who tries,” he mused.
“Why then do you hide?”
“Years back, my aunt and I were at the market. We’d been working the entire time and I was starving, so I took two tomatoes without her approval and ate them. She saw me and raised an alarm, calling me a thief. Everyone supported her. Being an orphan, they said I was of no good. She sent me out to fend for myself. It was embarrassing, I became a stray and went into hiding.” He said, blinking back tears.
Mara sighed as the wind shifted, and something in her chest flipped. Standing before her wasn’t the town’s perfect man, just someone who had stumbled once and been punished forever for it, yet he still chose to show up for others.
He wiped his face, steadied himself and managed a small smile. And in that moment, Mara understood that perfection was never the point.
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How many times do I have to tell how much of an amazing writer you are? You try! You really do, and reading your writings makes me feel alive!
One thing, I love how you use descriptive language in a way that gives room for perfect progression of your story. For one, I could already imagine what it could be like to see this mystery man. But you ended that finely with Maya gaining clarity of the situation. I love it. Thank you for ending with a lesson.❤️
Stopp, you're gassing me up and you're so kind with your words. I really appreciate you taking time to read mama.
Have a lovely day❤️☺️