You’re 12 years old. It’s your birthday. Write for ten minutes on that memory. GO. Photographers, artists, poets: show us RECKLESS.

 His friends were there, it was a good party. But he wished, he prayed, he wanted it to happen.

There was enough noise in the little room not to worry: they were all having fun. But still he wanted it so much…

He was courteous, attentive, laughed with the others, even danced with Suzy. But what he wanted to do…

There was a minute of peace, he heard footsteps…

And she was there, at the door, the long red hair, the lips, the look.

“Hi” he said, trying to control his breathing. “Hi” she said, smiling, “happy birthday!”

And they danced.