Green
Title: Green
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG
Summary: Briar has been afraid ever since he knew how to be.
Author's Notes: Briar's viewpoint; written for the 3rd prompt at circle_fic.
Green
He lives a life of fear. He has since long before that day when his mother was knifed and the landlord kicked him out into the streets. He thinks he has almost since he was old enough to know what fear was.
He sometimes thinks that the walls are falling in on him, shoddy walls that they are. He is four, and he runs through the sewers like death itself is nipping on his heels. In a way it is, he knows: The life of a street rat is a dangerous one, and he has no gang to protect him.
The bright sun burns his eyes. Sears into his very soul, leaving a scar that none but he will ever know of. The land is barren outside the slums, and his acknowledgement of the lack of plant-life almost shocks him. It feels like loss, and that feeling scares him, so, aged five, he returns to Hajra slums, and swears never to leave them again.
The Thief Lord is generous, he thinks, as he follows the three gangers down to their hideaway. It is in a tall, precarious building, almost falling to pieces. He looks around, terrified that it will collapse on him at any moment. There is a large hole in the wall to his right and he looks out of it briefly. If he falls, then he will most likely die from the impact, he knows, and he wonders how long it would take. The gangers seem to sense his thoughts, and one of them turns to face him with a wicked grin. ‘Slug’ll push you if you want to find out that badly,’ the ganger says, and he can tell that it’s true, just from the look in their eyes. He is only six, and he is more terrified of those who claim they will protect him than he is of any of the other gangs.
He is seven, and he scales the Bag-house wall easily. The small, jewelled statuette is tucked under his arm, out of the way, and there is no one around, so he stops for a moment and examines the plants in the garden. Beautiful, he decides. A shout sounds from inside the house, and he looks to an upstairs window in alarm. Seeing an angry face, he jumps to his feet and starts to run, his heart beating furiously in his chest. He climbs a vine, cutting himself on its sharp thorns, and they trap his wrists, leaving him dangling in mid air. For one frightening moment, he hears the servants’ door open, and fears that he will be caught, and he prays that the vine will release him. The light of the world turns green and he falls with a thud, over the other side of the wall. He doesn’t think about what just happened: he knows only to run.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG
Summary: Briar has been afraid ever since he knew how to be.
Author's Notes: Briar's viewpoint; written for the 3rd prompt at circle_fic.
Green
He lives a life of fear. He has since long before that day when his mother was knifed and the landlord kicked him out into the streets. He thinks he has almost since he was old enough to know what fear was.
He sometimes thinks that the walls are falling in on him, shoddy walls that they are. He is four, and he runs through the sewers like death itself is nipping on his heels. In a way it is, he knows: The life of a street rat is a dangerous one, and he has no gang to protect him.
The bright sun burns his eyes. Sears into his very soul, leaving a scar that none but he will ever know of. The land is barren outside the slums, and his acknowledgement of the lack of plant-life almost shocks him. It feels like loss, and that feeling scares him, so, aged five, he returns to Hajra slums, and swears never to leave them again.
The Thief Lord is generous, he thinks, as he follows the three gangers down to their hideaway. It is in a tall, precarious building, almost falling to pieces. He looks around, terrified that it will collapse on him at any moment. There is a large hole in the wall to his right and he looks out of it briefly. If he falls, then he will most likely die from the impact, he knows, and he wonders how long it would take. The gangers seem to sense his thoughts, and one of them turns to face him with a wicked grin. ‘Slug’ll push you if you want to find out that badly,’ the ganger says, and he can tell that it’s true, just from the look in their eyes. He is only six, and he is more terrified of those who claim they will protect him than he is of any of the other gangs.
He is seven, and he scales the Bag-house wall easily. The small, jewelled statuette is tucked under his arm, out of the way, and there is no one around, so he stops for a moment and examines the plants in the garden. Beautiful, he decides. A shout sounds from inside the house, and he looks to an upstairs window in alarm. Seeing an angry face, he jumps to his feet and starts to run, his heart beating furiously in his chest. He climbs a vine, cutting himself on its sharp thorns, and they trap his wrists, leaving him dangling in mid air. For one frightening moment, he hears the servants’ door open, and fears that he will be caught, and he prays that the vine will release him. The light of the world turns green and he falls with a thud, over the other side of the wall. He doesn’t think about what just happened: he knows only to run.