Burt was not sure whether the sweetness he felt came from the song of that majestic, blue, ashen bird or from the drunk clouds that vanished in the horizon. Then the singing ceased, rather abruptly, the birds and the clouds disappeared and he came to. “I am letting myself be carried away by nauseating sentimentality, like my dad always says” he said clenching his fist and shaking his head. Burt looked for the gun but could not find it. He walked back and forth, looking, but the gun was definitely gone.
He felt his frustration and panic rising and thought: “I better get back to school to get the other boys.” And he broke into a trot, cutting through the field. Upon entering the town he began to feel strange. He did not recognize some of the buildings. As he made his way passed the town’s square the strange feeling kept growing. When he reached his school, an incipient fear splashed him on the face like cold water. He entered the main hall and saw a group of children playing and singing in the schoolyard. When they saw him, tho, they froze and ran away, mumbling “It’s him!”
An older woman that he did not recognize and came out of the headmaster’s office said to him with an apprehensive tone “can I help you, sir?”
“Why, I’m Burt. I’m looking for my classmates” he stammered. She open her eyes wide as if surprised but did not answer. “This is my school. Who are you?” She replied, in a more polite tone “I am sorry, sir, I think you are disoriented. This is a primary school for young children. I am the headmistress.” Then, Burt noticed his hands and realized that they were rumpled, wrinkled, trembling, like those of a very old man. He then fled in terror, crying.