We are so fragile...
He doesn't know what time it is, can't remember how long he's been here or how long he's been awake. The sun rose, he knows that and it's still early in the morning. The birds are singing and there's lot of traffic. It's not been very long since they found him though, since they started teasing and taunting him. He knows that much.
There are four of them, boys who look young, he couldn't guess exactly how young but they shouldn't be here. They don't fit the kind of people he meets in alleys. Or maybe they do, he can't be sure, can't trust himself to remember right now.
At first it was just talking, just words. That was all right, it didn't bother him. He could stay quiet and nothing would happen. He was good at staying quiet, at letting the silence roll over him and keep the words away.
He could do that.
But then the first punch was thrown.
It's all a blur after that. He's good at ignoring pain, he does it all the time. His body is weak and broken, lots of things hurt. This is just a different hurt, it's an outside hurt instead of an inside one. He can deal with it though, if he just doesn't move, if he just stops thinking or breathing or anything....
His blood is on the ground, he can see that, it's pooling against his mouth. His tongue pokes out to lap at it. It's coppery and more human than not. He locks at it again.
They see and kick him in the head. It makes his head spin and he closes his eyes, waiting for the world to stop hurti8ng.
That's all he wants, for the world to stop hurting, for him to be able to go back to the little place he'd set out for himself. It was a good place, with a blanket he fount and a place to sleep in the alley. He'll go back to 8it when this is over. Hide and wait for himself to get better.
It just has to be over first.
(Why no, I don't ahve willpower. That and I wanted to make Beka fight her internet.)
There are four of them, boys who look young, he couldn't guess exactly how young but they shouldn't be here. They don't fit the kind of people he meets in alleys. Or maybe they do, he can't be sure, can't trust himself to remember right now.
At first it was just talking, just words. That was all right, it didn't bother him. He could stay quiet and nothing would happen. He was good at staying quiet, at letting the silence roll over him and keep the words away.
He could do that.
But then the first punch was thrown.
It's all a blur after that. He's good at ignoring pain, he does it all the time. His body is weak and broken, lots of things hurt. This is just a different hurt, it's an outside hurt instead of an inside one. He can deal with it though, if he just doesn't move, if he just stops thinking or breathing or anything....
His blood is on the ground, he can see that, it's pooling against his mouth. His tongue pokes out to lap at it. It's coppery and more human than not. He locks at it again.
They see and kick him in the head. It makes his head spin and he closes his eyes, waiting for the world to stop hurti8ng.
That's all he wants, for the world to stop hurting, for him to be able to go back to the little place he'd set out for himself. It was a good place, with a blanket he fount and a place to sleep in the alley. He'll go back to 8it when this is over. Hide and wait for himself to get better.
It just has to be over first.
(Why no, I don't ahve willpower. That and I wanted to make Beka fight her internet.)