The Young Boy

There was clapping. Jon turned around and saw a young boy, sitting in a tree that wasn't there a moment ago. The boy was clapping, as if he were pleased by someone's performance. "Very good! Very, very good!" "Who are you?" "Now, now. You shouldn't talk to your audience." "Audience? You mean," Jon paused and looked around, "people are *watching* me?" "Sort of. But don't be so concerned." *Concerned?* Jon thought to himself. *Why should I be concerned? Maybe because I'm in the middle of Crazy Land in my frickin' underwear?* "Do you live here with the farmer?" Jon asked. The boy looked confused, and then not. "Oh. You mean *him*. No. I'm just sort of ... stopping by." "Stopping by? So there *is* a way out." "Well, yeah. If you can do it. What did the old man tell you? That you couldn't leave?" He started laughing. "What's so funny?" "Man, that is just like him." "Tell me. Who is he?" "Nope. I'm not falling for that one." "Huh? What are you talking about?" And then he disappeared, along with the tree. Jon was alone again. In the distance, there was another deafening boom.