Cal stretched and yawned, before falling back onto the long, self-seeded grass; he had a way of looking perfect all the time. Joseph watched him enviously. They had been friends for longer than he could remember - their mothers had been friends before they were born, back before Cal was Cal; when Cal was still known as Caleb. Caleb hadn’t suited him though; Caleb was soft, simple and modest. Not like Cal; Cal had sharp edges, dangerous, pointed vertices. Cal had tried to persuade Joseph to change his name too. He seemed to think that by shortening Joseph’s name to Jo, Joseph would suddenly be filled with the same amount of confidence and vigour that he had. But Joseph knew better – it isn’t a name which makes a person more confident, a person is the same no matter what their name may be. Cal hadn’t needed the name Cal to make him confident, he always had been, Cal just suited him better. Anyway Joseph didn’t like the name Jo; it didn’t suit him at all. Unlike Cal, Joseph was quiet and uninteresting. He didn’t have Cal’s boundless energy or effortless style. Cal had always been popular, bold and courageous – everyone loved Cal. Joseph was just a friend of Cal’s. He tagged along in the background. However, for some inexplicable reason (unbeknown to all except perhaps Cal himself,) Cal had always remained a loyal friend of Joseph’s.

“You’re not drawing me are you?” said Cal, interrupting Joseph’s train of thought.
“No, I... I was trying to draw the hills in the background...” Joseph looked down at his notebook trying not to blush. He was always drawing something, but Cal was his favourite subject. If only he was able to capture how perfect everything about him was, even the way the rays of sunlight seemed to bounce off his golden hair... Cal stretched out one of his toned, athletic looking arms which were just beginning to tan in the first days of the strong summer sun. (Joseph never got a tan – his white skin burnt at the slightest hint of sunshine causing him to spend most of his time in the shade.)

“Let me see.” Cal asked patiently. He never demanded; he didn’t have to. Joseph tried to move the notebook away quickly but Cal was faster as always. He grabbed the notebook easily and held it above him to read it where he still lay on his back in the grass. He didn’t even attempt to keep it from Joseph – there was no point – Cal would always win any fight.
“It’s good... though I guess any drawing of me would be.” He grinned showing his perfectly white teeth, “You always were a bad liar.”
“It’s just a rough sketch.” Joseph mumbled and reached his hands out plaintively. Cal returned the notebook before reclining back onto the grass and closing his eyes once more. Joseph watched Cal’s hair flutter in the breeze and wondered how it was fair that Cal could look so good and he himself could be so plain. The world seemed to move around Cal. In Joseph’s opinion, all the riches and wonders of the earth seemed dull in comparison to him. He outshone them all: something Cal was aware of but said little about. Every one of Cal’s features was exquisite, as if someone had spent hours on each minute detail, making everything perfect. Cal was a finished and perfected work of art on display. Someone’s life’s work. A masterpiece of creation. Every inch of flawless creamy skin turning golden in the sun had been carefully airbrushed. Each of his fingernails had been rounded and shaped to unvarying perfection. His body had been sculpted with a skill Joseph had never seen rivalled by any artist. Each individual golden strand of hair had been attached to his scalp in a way that gave him a glorious, permanently tousled yet effortlessly stunning appearance. Even the way he moved was breathtaking: graceful yet casual. He was never rushed or stressed, he moved through life with such ease. There was nothing imperfect about Cal, no mistakes had been made. Joseph could only sigh; he had known him for too long and liked him too much to be jealous of him. (He was jealous of him.)

Joseph liked it when it was quiet and he could just sit with Cal and not have to worry about anything else, but his happiness was short lived. Cal didn’t share Joseph’s love of the quiet; he preferred the sort of excitement and danger which so easily shattered Joseph’s tranquil, fragile world. And, sure enough, after just a few short yet blissful minutes, Cal was starting to become restless.
“Shall we go down to the river now?” This wasn’t really a question. It was a decision. Cal might as well have said “We’re going to the river now.” But Cal never demanded things. He never had to; if Cal wanted to do something then he did it, anyone else’s participation was optional to him and obviously obligatory.
“If you want...” Joseph didn’t meet Cal’s eyes.
“Come on then.” Cal leapt up and began to brush dry grass from his trousers before heading off. Joseph reluctantly followed him down the valley along the narrow winding path which led to the river.

Joseph sat on the riverbank with his trousers rolled up to his knees, his feet softly caressed by the running water. It was cold and clear and insisted on being touched with bare skin – like the stone walls of old buildings with their rough, textured surfaces and ridges in between the stones, demanding that you run your bare hands across them as you walk beside them or even press your forehead to the cold surface and inhale the scent of damp and earthy decay. (Joseph had spent a lot of time sitting, leaning against old walls and houses in the heat of the day drawing, while Cal and the other village boys played team sports and the like.)

Joseph watched the water rush past him, the current wasn’t as strong near the edge but towards the centre it grew more powerful and the currents were such that anyone other than the stronger swimmers would get pulled along and swept away. On the surface however, the river remained deceptively calm. Joseph shivered. He disliked something about the water; it worried him. One of the village boys screamed and water droplets flew from the surface of the river, racing upwards before losing momentum and plummeting back down, gleaming in the sunlight like thousands of grass beads forming a huge chandelier just before they hit the surface again; a cascade of tiny mirrors, causing the previously calm water to spin and swirl, with ripples streaming off in every direction.

Joseph watched the boy resurface from the water, choking, but grinning all the same. It was the thrill they did it for. That rush of excitement and adrenaline, making their heads spin and pulse quicken. The boy shouted something and waved up at the other boys. There were quite a lot of them today - Joseph could just about make out Cal with his golden blonde hair. It was their favourite game; they would climb up the steep, rocky cliff face and then take it in turns to hurl themselves into the river below from a great height. Joseph didn’t go with them. The very idea terrified him; all he could ever think about when he watched them was how their broken bodies would look if they miscalculated the distance and jumped too close to the cliff, plummeting like stones and landing on the jagged rocks below. So he just sat on the riverbank and watched. That was all he could do. Joseph always found it painful; he, like everyone else suffered from the infectious desire to follow Cal about (in fact he suffered from it much more than most) but Cal would insist on going places Joseph simply could not follow. So, every day, regardless of season or climate, Joseph would follow Cal about from place to place and, more often than not, be forced to sit and watch him participate in something Joseph couldn’t do. And any minute now it would be Cal’s turn, and he’d have to watch as Cal’s body plunged downwards endlessly it seemed, before hitting the surface of the water. In Joseph’s nightmarish dreams he would scream out desperately to him but Cal seemed unable to hear. And when his body hit the surface, the water all stayed completely still, as if it had frozen over – though it never did. And Cal’s beautiful, strong, sculptured body just lay there, limp and lifeless. And all Joseph was able to do was stand there and scream. In the real world Cal resurfaced and called up gleefully to the others. He didn’t look at Joseph.

The boys played this game for hours until dusk started to fall and the shadows became too long and dark to climb the cliffs or even to make out the dark, ominous rocks lying just beneath the surface of the river. It was the dark that stopped them, not the cold; they never seemed to feel the cold. Joseph shivered and wished he’d thought to bring his jacket. Although it was summer now, that didn’t stop it getting cold at night. The wonderfully clear skies of daytime were less pleasant at night without a comforting blanket of cloud to keep in the warmth when the sun went down. But Joseph had to admit it was worth it for the stars. He had heard that if you went into the cities, the endless array of dazzling lights lit up the night sky, polluting it to the extent that the stars were almost impossible to see. Joseph didn’t think he would be able to cope without the stars at night; he never really wanted to leave the little village where he lived. He had no desire to see the big cities, with their flashing lights, constant noise and disruption with the air so thick you could barely breathe. And what about the water? Could he really bring himself to drink something that had been through so many people and recycled before he got to drink it? It all sounded disgusting. But the other boys didn’t seem to think in this way; they longed to get a chance to leave the security of the village and explore the big wide world. There would be no stopping them, they said. And Cal had sat there planning adventures with the rest of them - heroic tales of excitement and exhilaration. Cal was intending to leave with the others. And what would Joseph do then?

Joseph walked slowly over to where Cal and the other boys were getting dressed, laughing and teasing each other. But not about their bodies – only girls ventured that far, grouped together and speaking in hurried whispers with malicious tongues they used their vicious vocabulary and sarcastic voices to fuel their ferocious appetite for the carnage of human pride which, in its own way, easily equalled if not surpassed that of the boys. The village boys were never openly mean to Joseph, never spiteful. They just didn’t care about him either way. He was a friend of Cal’s which granted him some respect (Cal earned more than enough of that to cover Joseph as well) but this was not enough to fain an interest in him. Their indifference was total and absolute.

The moment each of the boys had finished dressing, they charged off into the trees, racing along the narrow and otherwise peaceful paths. Joseph followed along behind them for a while but for some reason or another he lacked the ability to run like they could. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, some sort athletic skill, agility, the ability to leap over fallen tree trunks and avoid the most treacherous of potholes, the endurance perhaps or even just basic physical fitness. Joseph came to a halt in front of the tangled remains of an old tree which had fallen across the path, panting. He had fallen behind the others. Cal would be with them, at the front where he always was, surrounded by his other friends, all wanting him to know how much they liked him. He wouldn’t take the time to notice Joseph’s absence. Joseph’s eyes stung and his nose began to run. He was shivering again and it was getting too dark for him to see properly. It wasn’t that Joseph was afraid of the dark, not in the way that small children are afraid of it, but it unnerved him. The way it distorted his vision, blurring things in the distance, making everything seem unfamiliar and untrustworthy. Joseph just stood in the middle of the track looking up and watching the branches of the trees silhouetted against the last faded rays of the dying sun.

The rain poured down in sheets, running off the streets and into the gutters (although only the main streets really had them in such a sleepy little village). It rolled off the roofs and gushed out of the drainpipes. And still the heavy grey clouds continued to pelt down raindrops, furiously hurling them to the ground. Sheet lightning lit up the dark sky intermittently and forked lightning struck down spitefully at the highest trees which dared to come so close to the ever self-righteous sky. Terrified and excited children ran screaming around their houses, daring each other to peek through the curtains and stare in awe at the immense and destructive power. Too distracted to concentrate on counting the seconds between the violent flashes of light and ominous roars of thunder to try and work out how far away the eye of the storm actually was, instead they shrieked when they saw the lightning flash and waited until the much anticipated sound of thunder continued, fuelling their frenzied excitement. Hearing the animated screams of his sisters from downstairs, Joseph looked up and smiled; it was nice to remember the simple delights of childhood. He, however, had never enjoyed such animation. Flashing lights and loud noises had scared him and he would run terrified to his mother’s open arms where she would stroke away his tears and try to reassure him of his safety. Joseph sat on his bedroom windowsill and watched the rain pour on. It was a long time before the sky began to clear.

“Hey, come on!” Cal stood impatiently at the end of the road waiting for him. The cobbled stones glistened in the sun, still wet from the passing storm. Joseph increased his walking speed a little to meet him (he would normally have run just to appease him but he wasn’t in an obliging mood – even for Cal). Cal noticed and watched him quizzically.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Cal, despite his copious attributes, wasn’t the most gifted when it came to deciphering other people’s emotions. But he could still tell that Joseph was lying. Once again, Joseph wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You’re a bad liar, I’ve told you before.” Cal grinned playfully but Joseph wasn’t in the mood to be teased either. Cal had stopped in front of him, preventing him from going any further and forcing him to look at him. Joseph glared resentfully into Cal’s deep oceanic blue eyes. The sudden desire to hit Cal was overwhelming: to strike him so hard he would fall backwards onto the stone street and smash his skull open on it with a look of shock and pain on his beautiful face. Joseph wasn’t accustomed to feelings of such hatred, it swept through his body like a bush fire on the dry open African plains. He was shocked; Joseph would never hurt Cal physically - that was pointless. Joseph’s battles were always fought with words; his weapons were pointed steel syllables, short sharp sentences and poisonous condescension.

“I’m just surprised that you managed to remember that I exist for a change.” Cal’s smile faded. The tone of Joseph’s voice was enough to tell him he was angry; Joseph appeared calm but his voice was full of bitterness. Cal wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a way. He never got into fights or arguments; everyone liked him far too much to wish to hurt him in any way. And the idea of Joseph being the one to turn on him was something which had not even occurred to him.
“Did... did I do something wrong?” Cal just stood there with his large blue eyes looking hurt and confused. Like a puppy left out in the rain. Joseph’s rationality told him that being cruel to Cal wouldn’t do his conscience any good or do anything to improve things but he had let himself get too upset to care. A small belligerent part of him wanted Cal to suffer; that part of him was determined to get its way.
“No, no you were perfect.” Joseph mocked, “Perfect as always. Just about as bloody perfect as anyone ever could be. And I’m so sorry that people don’t tell you enough how bloody wonderful you are every moment of the fucking day but quite frankly I don’t give a damn about it. Just because everyone else thinks you’re so fucking marvellous doesn’t mean I have to, you know!” Joseph’s speech got faster and faster and more and more high pitched as he went on until the last sentence came out as one long  barely distinguishable scream. It was probably the angriest he’d ever been and certainly the most he’d ever sworn out loud. And, having finished his outburst, completely overcome by shock and emotion, Joseph turned and ran all the way back along the street to his house, slamming both the front door and his bedroom door behind him before collapsing into tears on his bed.

Joseph’s mother was a sensible and immensely practical woman who handled even the most chaotic and distressing situations with total ease. Joseph was her eldest child and only son and was not in the least bit spoilt. She had tried, perhaps in vain, to encourage a good sense of work ethic in her son and to bring him up with a realistic and comprehensive understanding of the world as well as the ability to actually live in it. However she was well aware that these things did not appear to come naturally to her son and he was often daunted by the world in which he lived. She was often disappointed and exasperated by her son’s lack of enthusiasm for almost everything unknown, yet she loved him more deeply than anything else in the world. Although, of course, she loved his sisters with equal intensity, he was the child whom she felt needed the most protection.

She usually blamed her own actions for Joseph’s inability to take hold of life but she was well aware that his father’s death had had a large impact on him. But death, as she had tried to explain to him at a young age, was beyond even the most fierce objections and piteous pleas. Death does not have ears; he does not hear the anguished cries of distraught mortals any more than we are able to see him. Joseph’s mother would always love him, care for him, protect him, but death was undefeatable. In the end, everyone loses. Joseph at the time hadn’t wanted to hear it. His mother, his wonderful, powerful, courageous mother, was telling him that they would all be defeated: defeated by something he couldn’t even begin to understand. No ifs, no buts, no maybes. Joseph had shaken his head and run off crying. He hadn’t shouted or screamed; he was never that sort of child. Joseph took after his father in many ways; they were both quiet, slight and artistic. His father had never raised his voice in all the time she had known him. (Something she herself would never have managed.) But he had been far too fragile; whatever you did, you felt that you might hurt him.

Eventually her husband’s delicacy made him ill and he became thinner and paler and weaker and weaker until the only thing he seemed able to manage was his soft, shallow breathing. By then he had been hospitalised. (Even the word sounded ominous.) She herself had never been before then, having given birth to her children at home and not being the sort of person to fall ill. Just stepping into the place was enough to make her feel sick; there were so many brightly lit corridors and endless pale figures in white clothes, lying between white sheets in wards with white walls and a white tiled floors. Everywhere stank of disinfectant and linoleum. The stench of chlorine filled her senses and later her nightmares. The staff all dressed in pale blue uniforms with detached smiles and perfect hygiene. The intrusive ticking of various monitors and machines. The squeaking wheels of trolleys in long blank corridors. Scalpels and blood. Death. It was everywhere. Joseph’s father hadn’t lasted long there (although she didn’t doubt the efforts of the people there to keep him otherwise); he died only a few days after being brought in. He hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. He had asked her not to take him but he didn’t protest more than that - not physically or with words. But his eyes were different. They pleaded with her.

It was a shame he was not here to be Joseph’s father; he would have known how to deal with Joseph and his secret, subtle talents. No, shame was not the right word. The word she needed was powerful, bitter, vicious and full of anger. But the word she needed wasn’t a word she felt she could use in terms of death; you couldn’t lash out at death, it was final; it always had the last word.

Joseph’s mother pulled herself together and finished putting out the washing. She worked methodically, with the air of someone who was busy, and pleased about it. In her mind however she considered how best to handle her only son who had just stormed into the house in tears. She had, in fact, overheard the latter part of his conversation with Cal, whom she thought of as an excellent, well adjusted boy who hopefully left a good impression on her son. She wasn’t exactly sure what to make of their conversation other than that her son was rather upset and was, whether justified or not, taking his anger and frustration out on Cal. She sighed, collected up the wicker washing basket and little wooden pegs and turned to go inside; she would have to try and reason with and/or console her son.

“Joseph?” Joseph’s mother’s knuckles rapped smartly against the hard wood of Joseph’s bedroom door. “Joseph honey, I know you’re there.” Joseph didn’t answer and his mother quietly opened the door. She moved across the room with surprising swiftness and sat down beside him on the bed. Silence. She sighed and ran her fingers through his fine dark hair then looked up sadly and watched the cloudy grey sky through his bedroom window, with water droplets still trickling down the pane. Everything was quiet and still, the entire world frozen in motion. It was a while before she spoke again. “Did you have an argument with Cal?”
Joseph still didn’t say anything. She looked down at him, so delicate and fragile, like a china doll... Joseph was never meant to be a boy; he was never meant to be real. Nothing seemed to break the deep penetrating silence. Outside the rain began to fall once more.

“Are you gonna talk to me today?” Cal waited anxiously for Joseph’s reply. Joseph still couldn’t meet Cal’s eyes; instead he watched his clumsy feet trail along the dusty path that went from the village down to the riverbed. He didn’t really feel like talking to Cal but he hadn’t had the heart to turn him away again.
“Sure, I’ll talk to you.” The two of them sat down by the edge of the river. Neither of them actually had anything to say. Cal had stretched out into his usual reclined position. It was still too early in the day for Cal to want to do anything too strenuous. They had both got up at first light. Cal liked to start early and Joseph enjoyed the morning birdsong and the absence of the other boys with their loud carrying voices and disruptive nature. Joseph was also jealous; he liked having Cal to himself. Joseph watched Cal with his pale, envious eyes and wondered again how he could look so good even this early in the morning and how he could come out without a jacket or sweater and not feel cold. The summers were always hot but it was far too early for the sun to have started to warm up the earth or water yet. Joseph sat hunched up and began to run his fingers through the long, wild grass. Cal watched him curiously and wondered what it was he had done to upset Joseph so much. Joseph got out his sketch book again and began to draw, trying to capture the running water on paper. Seeing this as a good sign, Cal relaxed and closed his eyes, smiling contentedly. The two of them were finally both at peace. Joseph knew it wouldn’t last long.

A bird swooped overhead; that was all it took to destroy Joseph’s tranquil environment. Cal’s eyes flickered and opened. He sat up, running his fingers through his naturally untidy hair. He glanced over at Joseph who was still drawing before turning his attention to the river. Having decided that it was now warm enough to swim, Cal stood up, stretched again, and began to undress. Joseph watched transfixed out of the corner of his eye. He always loved watching Cal – no matter what he was doing. He took each item off with such grace. He started with his shirt; undoing all the buttons top to bottom and then slipping it off with no more than a shrug of his beautifully carved shoulders. Cal turned to drop his shirt down next to Joseph who quickly averted his gaze and guiltily pretended to be drawing. But Joseph was still able to admire Cal’s perfectly sculpted chest and wonderfully toned stomach muscles. He loved the elegance Cal seemed to possess. He had beauty that Joseph could only dream of.  Cal stripped down to his shorts which he was wearing under his jeans. Cal stood for a moment, gazing out over the surface of the river, stretching out his perfect body. God wasn’t fair Joseph decided. When he’d made Cal he’d used an entirely different material. Cal was beyond human beauty.

“I won’t be too long OK?” Cal said to Joseph who once again was pretending to draw.
“Sure.” Joseph didn’t allow himself to look up again until Cal had already climbed down the steep river bank, out onto the rocks jutting out over the water and dived head first into the cold, crystal clear river. Joseph watched Cal resurface and begin making clear confident strokes towards the opposite bank. Joseph found himself compelled to watch as Cal hauled himself up onto the rocky edge and began to climb the cliff face. The climb itself wasn’t too dangerous; over the years the generations of boys and some of the girls had worn away a narrow path by which you could climb up to the ledge from which they each hurled themselves from so triumphantly, oblivious it seemed to the danger in what they were doing. The path was steep, but Cal didn’t have any problem. He was used to it. He climbed upwards fearlessly, determined to reach the ridge. Once there he paused for a moment; he knew he had to judge the angle of his jump, if he jumped too close to the cliff the he’d plunge straight down onto the sharp rocks at the base of the cliff just appearing out of where the water became darker, and if he jumped too far out, then he’d land where it was too shallow and probably break his neck. He knew all this, he calculated it all each time, but it never occurred to him that he might get it wrong. Cal took a step back. Paused for a fraction of a second. And jumped. Joseph held his breath as he watched Cal’s young athletic body plummet downwards. He hit the surface. Only Joseph closed his eyes.

The bright sunlight shone through the leafy branches of the overhead trees. Last night’s rain had made the sandy soil beneath him soft and crumbly but the sun was already starting to dry it out. Joseph sat in a dream like stupor, leaning against a large tree heavily covered in ivy, the lids gently closing on his restful eyes. He inhaled softly the scent of damp earth and pollinating flowers. Someone screamed and Joseph looked up. But it was just another one of the village boys making a scene out of jumping off for the first time. (He was probably about five or six years younger than Joseph.)

“Hey Joseph!” Cal came running towards him grinning jubilantly and tossing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Do you have the time?” Joseph looked at his watch, it was half six, the boys wouldn’t get tired for a while yet. To Joseph’s surprise however, Cal didn’t immediately run off at hearing these words.  Instead he fell down beside him in a sort of resigned yet somehow elegant flop. Joseph said nothing for a while and continued with his drawing but after a considerable amount of time had passed he felt he should say something.
“Are you alright?” Joseph enquired a little anxiously. Cal was normally the last to stop, continuing well into dusk when the river water turned black and you couldn’t see the rocks for the looming shadows.
“Mmm...” Cal was lying flat on his back and had his eyes closed and his head tilted towards Joseph. His arms were at his sides, his fingers gently curled. Joseph sat quietly, biting his lip. Cal even smelt wonderful. He was all fresh and natural. Joseph could smell his hair; it had the scent of everything outdoors and just a little like honey. Joseph slid down so that he was lying beside him, propping himself up on one elbow, his body twisted in Cal’s direction. Their faces were so close Joseph could feel Cal’s soft breathing against his face. The overwhelming desire to pull himself that tiny bit closer so that their lips might gently brush against each other was what was making him nervous.

“Cal! Cal where the hell are you?!” Joseph sat up very quickly and Cal’s eyes snapped open. He sat up yawning and tossing back his hair which had dried while he had been resting.
“What time is it?” said Cal stretching out his arms.
“About seven.” Cal looked startled.
“Since when?”
“Since you were asleep.” Joseph was pleased to see that even Cal was human enough to feel tired.
“But why didn’t you wake me?” Cal asked a little reproachfully, his large blue eyes stared at Joseph, unable to see any possible reason why Joseph wouldn’t have every interest in waking him and sending back to mess around with the others in their suicidal game. The other boys raced up to collect Cal and drag him back to the river which seemed to captivate them so entirely in the summer months of the year.

Joseph had gotten bored of drawing, frustrated by his inabilities and strolled down to the river’s edge. He wandered aimlessly along the riverbank; watching each of the tiny dark fish skitter about beneath the surface, darting from each glistening patch of sunlight to the next, trying to keep their tiny bodies warm as the water cooled, allowed to do so by the weakening sun.

Further down, the river spread out and the left bank fell away to give a large, flat, pebbled beach which flooded in the winter. As a young child Joseph had enjoyed spending time there. There had been far less for him to be afraid of. His ever vigilant mother had been able to watch him from the edge of the beach, reclining on some of the flatter stones under a tree, reading a book. Joseph could recall these carefree childhood memories with such beautiful clarity and a sort of golden aura which he took to be his own wistful longing for the past. A craving for a time when his days had been spent playfully chasing small skittish fish with a net through the shallow water, which was warm but still clean and clear. The fish, well trained of the danger, would zip about desperately trying to escape him. There were larger fish in the river too but they were sensible and knew enough to stay away from the shallow water and instead allowed themselves to be swept away in the fast moving current towards what Joseph had supposed must be the sea. Cal had always been quite good at catching fish but Joseph lacked something of the stealth which Cal possessed and so caught nothing. He could remember his frustration and not being able to understand why the fish always swam away from him. That had been before his mother went down to the water with him, the soft soles of their bare feet burning on the baking stones, or perhaps they kept their sandals on... She showed him how to lie still in the water for a long time and after a while the fish would simply accept your body as a new part of their environment, swimming calmly around you and sometimes even nibbling your toes – which Joseph’s mother assured him can’t hurt because fish don’t have any teeth.

Perhaps that was the first sign, the first indication that Joseph wasn’t going to be like any of the other boys - racing around, chasing each other though the water, sending ripples cascading out in every direction. Perhaps... but then maybe he hadn’t had signs. Not warning signs at least – symptoms as if what he had was a disease. Maybe he was just how he was meant to be – how God had made him. Joseph sighed. He put his sketch book beside him as he sat and watched the currents of the water swirl and race past each other. He didn’t pay that much attention to the boy’s games. He was trying not to think of Cal.

“Wow, these are amazing...” It was the tone not the words which caught Joseph’s attention. It was of the deliberately false sarcastic variety which Joseph found distressing. The pointed way in which the words were said told him that it was him they were speaking to. Joseph froze, not wanting to turn around and face another one of his fears. To his mind, there were few worse things than being mocked openly; it was humiliation he minded the most. Joseph turned around. It was David Harris. Joseph knew David like all of the other boys, but he’d never been entirely certain of his intentions. David was the sort of boy who thought it was funny to trip people up and throw water over them. All in the name of good humour of course but Joseph doubted very much whether he and David shared any interest in each of their very different styles of humour. Joseph stared at him openly terrified, trying to beg him with his eyes, please, please don’t, I never did anything to hurt you, just leave me be... But David didn’t appear to use that subtle form of communication.
“I never knew you were such an artist.” He snickered in a way that made Joseph feel sick. Holding Joseph’s sketch book out so that the whole crowd of boys who had gathered around them could see it.

Joseph was reminded suddenly of a time when they had both been very small; he had been sitting by the edge of a field where Cal and some of the other boys were playing ball games. He hadn’t had his sketch book with him then but he had amused himself watching the small colony of ants which had built their nest near to where he was sitting. Joseph didn’t really like ants, but he found himself fascinated by them as they worked in a steady line, gathering food and building materials in an orderly yet frantic manner. It had been David, who, when the game was over and they came to go home, seeing the anthill, started stamping on it and chasing the ants, trying to crush them. Joseph remembered the other boys seeing him do this and joining in too. (Joseph couldn’t remember whether Cal joined in or not.) Joseph on the other hand had just stared at him, unable to understand.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were drawing Cal! Hey Cal, get over here!” Cal looked up from further up the bank and started to jog towards them.
“Give it back!” Joseph said, desperate for Cal not to see it. How could he live with the embarrassment? The other boys were one thing; he’d never had their respect, but Cal... Joseph reached out frantically for the sketch book he’d spent the past few years filling with every one of his visions, his inspirations, his pathetic yet cherished emotions. “Just give it back!” David was faster than Joseph and pulled the sketch book away in time laughing openly now and leapt over to Cal to show him. Cal laughed with them. (Of course he would.) Joseph couldn’t take it - not from Cal. “Just let me have it back you stupid bastard!” They stopped laughing then. They were still grinning but they were uncertain. Cal cocked his head to one side as if there was something he didn’t quite understand. Joseph was on the verge of tears but he was angry enough to hold them back. David frowned.
“For Christ’s sake, you never can take a joke... Or are you just upset because Cal wasn’t next to you for more than one second. You know if you want to propose to him now that’s OK with us, really we don’t mind.” He got an applause for that one as they all roared with laughter. (Except Cal who was still smiling but looking confused.) David had moved towards him mockingly pulling a simpering face and pretending to declare his love for Cal in the form of a serenade. Joseph tried again to snatch the sketch book off him and failed.
“Oh I’m sorry do you want this back?” David was almost choking with laughter, “Here, catch.” Joseph was never intended to catch it; it sailed way over his head. David must have intended it to go in the river, but whether he really thought about it or not was debatable.
“Oops sorry, my bad.” David fell to the floor laughing. Joseph just stood there while his world came crashing down around him. His sketch book that he had poured his life into was drowned and washed away by the merciless river. Joseph met Cal’s eyes. The look he gave him was beyond words. It was everything Joseph had kept welled up inside him, despair, hate, shame; everything bitter and resentful was allowed to show itself just for a moment. The smile on Cal’s face disappeared instantly. But it was too late. Joseph staggered backwards for a moment before breaking eye contact and running past them all back up the path he’d come down.

“Joseph!” Cal called after him but Joseph wouldn’t look back. It would be pointless to chase after him in such a state. Cal felt sick. He knew Joseph better than anyone; he should have known it would hurt him. There were so many things which hurt Joseph; he was so fragile. (His mother would kill him when he got home – if she found out what had happened – she had always told him to look after Joseph. He was far too delicate; he needed looking after.) Behind him the other boys were continuing to laugh and David was still doing impressions.
“Will you just shut-up David?!” Cal turned around furiously. That stopped them all at once. When Cal said something they took it seriously, they respected Cal. David stood up properly.
“Hey, I... I didn’t mean it. I was only messing around Cal.” Cal turned away. How could he have let this happen?
“Come on Cal we didn’t mean anything by it.” The other boys watched him nervously, if Cal didn’t like it, then it was important. Cal sighed and looked back up towards the path to the village.
“That doesn’t make it right does it.”

Joseph’s feet thudded against the dusty soil. His eyes stung with tears but he wouldn’t stop yet. The world around him was a blur. Brightly coloured flowers and plants whizzed past. The sounds Joseph usually cherished were lost to him. The flutter of wings and the chorus of birdsong were inaudible against the sound of his feet pounding the earth or the panicked beating of his heart. He thought he could run forever. Past anything that had ever been of any importance to him. People, places... all the useless things Joseph had taken to accumulating deep in his heart, he let them all rush past. Without holding on, without their weight, he was lighter than air, he didn’t have to run; he could glide. But Joseph did stop. He stopped when he reached the inside of his room – door slammed shut.

He stood still and let all the things he cared about catch up with him. What was left of his fragile, fluttering heart broke and Joseph plummeted into despair. It took a moment for the grief to wash over him but it did, leaving something else in its place. White hot anger flooded Joseph’s mind. Of all the ways they could have hurt him. Of all the people. He couldn’t get the image of Cal grinning out of his head. Stupid, ignorant, self-centred, confused and bewildered Cal. His Cal. His glorious saviour. His protector. His white light and pure intentions. How could he come back from that? How could anyone or anything make up for that? And his sketch book... His pride and joy, his outlet to the world, the collection of all his desperate outpourings and misjudged attempts at perfection. It read like a diary, holding a part of his soul which he refused to give up yet couldn’t manage to keep inside him.

There was a thunderstorm inside his head. It raged viciously against all voices of reason or salvation. Its dark black clouds spread out, blinding his rationality and understanding. Joseph’s mind lacked gravity; there was no up or down. Rain, lightning, thunder – everything flew everywhere in all directions.

Outside Joseph’s bedroom window, everything was calm. On the distant horizon a beautiful sunset cast out an orangey glow. The sky was an amazing array of colour – reds and oranges, yellows and golds and pinks and purples decorated the sky as if it were a canvas. Joseph would once have dreamed of being able to capture it, recreating its beauty for himself. Now he glared at it accusingly. Its beauty made him sick. He hated it, despised it for being able to exist to such a degree of perfection. He resented all living things for daring to breath and wished them all dead with childish rage. It would be a good backdrop for Cal. Both were beautiful beyond comparison, both had delighted Joseph with their seemingly modest yet breathtaking displays and stunned him senseless with their amazing quality of design. Their design – a totally different design from Joseph’s. They had both been designed for some higher purpose. They both were oblivious to their obvious, undeserved gifts and those unimportant individuals who lacked them. Joseph was of no importance to them or their superior designs. Joseph had been so sure of Cal’s designer quality that it had been that which had driven him to his faith. With such well designed and thought out creatures and objects in the world, surely there had to be some divinity involved? God must exist in Joseph’s mind, if only to create these elite beings and occurrences. When Joseph had looked up this reasoning of his at school in text books, they told him it was so called teleological proof of God’s existence, first discovered by a man called William Paley. Joseph had wondered vaguely if William Paley had come across the same problem as he had – how to explain these things, these people, how to reason that they were simply beyond anything any normal person could ever hope to achieve.

Joseph had never been any good at taking a mature viewpoint. He hated those who told you that things didn’t really matter it’s not the end of the world – not for them at least. But it felt like the end of Joseph’s world. In his head an apocalypse raged. No-one was saved, there was no glorious judgement passed to save the good and punish the wicked, there was no voice of reason. The innocent burnt along with sinners. Joseph swore he no longer believed in a loving God.

Joseph clambered clumsily as ever out of the rushing water and onto the rocks. But he wouldn’t stop to whinge about the cuts on his hands and feet or whimper miserably to Cal about the numbing cold of the water or the sickening vertigo of the cliff he was about to climb. If he did it wouldn’t be the calm and reassuring voice of Cal he would get as his answer but a bleak drawn out silence.

It was still very early in the morning; everything had a cold and damp feel to it. The sun hadn’t yet broken through the morning mist which spread eerily along the valley. Joseph shivered. No-one would know he was missing yet. Water dripped from his unkempt hair and his clothes which he hadn’t bothered to remove. Joseph began to climb. He knew the route. He had seen Cal and the others climb the cliff face so many times. He’d even climbed part the way up himself once – but that had only been to stay close to Cal. There were times when he’d do anything just to stay with Cal. Even climb halfway up a sheer cliff face of white, chalk like rock, when he was terrified of heights and repeatedly cut open his fragile body on the sharp rocks it wasn’t designed to climb. And the sight of his own blood seeping from his delicate artist’s hands made him nauseous. And if he stopped, if he stopped climbing then he had to look down. Down, down, down all the way to the bottom. The bottom of the river where he saw each of them lying spread out with their skulls smashed open like hard, unripe fruits dropped onto stone tiled kitchen floors. Their precious and vulnerable insides splattered out in every direction. Blood oozing from their lifeless corpses. That was as far as Joseph had gone up the cliff. Even with Cal holding his hand like a child and telling him he’d be OK. He hadn’t understood. How could he? He was fearless and determined. He scaled the cliff in seconds each time. He never looked down. He didn’t have to see their corpses with their broken limbs and battered skulls. It never even occurred to him that it could happen. Why should it? Joseph cried. He cried then with all the village boys sneering at him, and he cried now where only the occasional bird flying overhead could see, with their cunning eyes, the desperate tears of a terrified boy.

Cal ran. He’d run this way many times before; the boys often raced down to the river. But this time he ran alone. There was no-one to beat, yet he ran with all of his ferocity. But what would happen if that wasn’t enough? What if he doesn’t make it? Cal’s never had that happen before. Cal always wins everything – every race and every game. He’s never had to accept a defeat; he’s never had to cry. But what if he doesn’t make it this time? Cal ran beautifully; he always did. It wasn’t something he tried to do, he just did. His pulse and breathing, his balance and co-ordination; he’d gotten everything down to an art form. His grace was breathtaking, every move had such precision, and such was Cal’s astounding ability that all the world around him moved to help him and nothing stood in his way. Mother Nature smiled on her child. But this time it was different. This time tangled branches of gnarled trees lunged out at him, tendrils of ivy trail down, trying to pull him back, and dark ravenous roots stretch up and coil themselves, attempting to trip him up as they continue their desperate quest to steal nutrients and suck all moisture from the surrounding soil. Cal can’t understand it. He’s Mother Nature’s son. Normally everything parts to let him through but not today. Today the world is bitter. Why should ‘Golden Boy’ have it all so easy? Why, when it’s all his fault?

Joseph had reached the ledge. He stood there staring out over the landscape. The cliff gave him a beautiful view of the valley. And, when the sun grew strong enough to break through the morning mist, the entire valley would be filled with golden sunlight. Farmers would smile at their crops, women like Joseph’s mother would hum softly to themselves whilst hanging out the washing, and children would rush into the street to play (at least until school started again). But Joseph was oblivious to such things. His eyes followed the water. The surface of the river appeared smooth from here – like glass. But Joseph wasn’t fooled; he knew all too well of the evasive undercurrents just beneath the deceptive surface. Joseph stepped forward to the very edge and closed his eyes. The cool breeze ruffled his wet hair, he shivered with the cold. He balanced on the brink of the abyss for a moment– it felt like an eternity. He opened his eyes again and looked for one last time at the world around him.
“Joseph!” Joseph had never heard Cal scream like that. But he was distant, far off, like a dream or memory replayed. He had seen it far too late. Joseph closed his eyes once more and stepped into nothing. He felt the air rush past him. The water was racing up to meet him, but he was oblivious; he had already let go. He hit the water with a splash that echoed around the valley but Joseph barely felt it. He had shut out reality for good.

“Joseph... Joseph... Joseph please, for God’s sake wake up.” Joseph could hear Cal’s beautiful clear resonating voice. Still in the distance, still very far off, but it was there. Joseph felt pleased; he could listen to Cal’s voice all day. It always sounded so wonderful, serene and controlled, playful yet relaxed. However, this wasn’t Cal’s usual voice Joseph could hear, he sounded panicked and nervous, his words were pleading and desperate.
“Joseph please...” Joseph stirred a little and began to regain some of the feeling in his body. Someone was pressing down on his chest with cold wet hands. The pressure was causing the stones beneath him to cut into his back; he needed to tell them to stop. Joseph’s eyelids flickered and he found himself face to face with Cal. Not the calm, laid back Cal that he knew so well, but a distraught, desperate Cal with tears streaming down his already wet face.
“Cal?” Joseph’s own voice sounded strange and distorted but this didn’t seem to bother Cal who, on hearing Joseph speak his name, gave a small strangled cry and promptly flung himself around Joseph’s neck. He stayed there sobbing for a moment or two before pulling back, allowing Joseph to breath.

Joseph was shocked to see him like that. Cal was usually so handsome and composed, now he looked panic-stricken and ill. His soft hair was wet and tangled; his clothes that usually gave him his effortlessly attractive appearance were soaked and dirty where he’d jumped into the river fully clothed. Appearance normally meant so much to him but now he looked like a bedraggled shivering wreak.
“You’re all messed up.” Joseph said thickly, reaching out to try and brush Cal’s dripping hair back off his face but Cal had flung himself at Joseph once more and had returned to crying.

“You’re so stupid... so stupid... why? ...why are you so stupid? Cal sobbed into Joseph’s neck. Joseph could feel Cal’s strong body shuddering as he lay over him, their wet clothes sticking together. Joseph wasn’t sure what to respond to such a question.
“I... I just wanted to be like everyone else... like you... like you’d want me to be... I just wanted you to like me like you like them.” Joseph turned his head away; how could he explain to Cal how important he was to him? Cal lifted his head just above Joseph’s, so that a mixture of river water and tears dripped down off his nose into Joseph’s ear.
“I could never like you like I like the other boys Joseph.” Cal brought his hand gently around Joseph’s cheek so there eyes met again. “You’re not like the other boys to me Joseph. You do know that, don’t you? You do know that, I... I love you... don’t you? The world froze. The trees became motionless, birds stopped mid flight, the wind dropped to nothing and the river didn’t flow, the fish suspended in water like ice. Then, slowly, Cal brought his head down and they kissed. The birds in the nearby trees took off, wings beating against the air, heading out confidently into the rising sun. The river rushed on.