Canal Bridge

Chapter Five: A Confession

Myself and the boy from my estate got on like a house on fire. I had no idea children his age could be so intelligent and broken. I found out a lot about his up bringing and school and all the other challenges in his life and I may not have resonated with them but Tabitha would've. Looking at this child reminded me of how much I wanted children of my own some day. It made me thankful for the fact I had managed to secure my future. Sadly, not everyone has managed to do that of recent. This thought process pushed me towards an obscure attachment to this child and I felt a need to protect him from the world but I knew his mother would not be happy if he didn't go home. At the Ice cream shop I had a mint choc chip scoop with a flake and the boy had some sort of chocolate ice cream that should've been labelled with a diabetes warning. I hoped he wasn't the sugar rush sort of kids like my niece can be. One whiff of sugar and she becomes an athlete in 0.1 second. How my sister copes is a mystery to me. However I have a feeling that no matter what kind of person this boy is, I will always have this nurturing connection to him. A connection I hear his mother hadn't even gotten with him.

"Come here you little-" She roared as she staggered her way up the stairs like a drunk ape. Her arm reached out as she fell onto the steps and she managed to hook onto his leg. With such magnificent strength, he got yanked down. His knees and hands were burnt by friction as they were dragged against the carpet at a powerful speed. The boy cried out in pain as he unsuccessfully struggles to hold on and even pull himself away from his mother. The woman laughed at his cries as she managed to pick him up and throw him to the bottom of the stairs. His head hit the wall and everything started spinning, the pain made in unbearable to move. As he tried to lift his arms, pain seared through his back sending tears down his cheeks.

"Serves you right, you freak." The woman grins. She's a bigger woman with curly black hair like spiders legs growing from her scalp. She smells of cigarettes and larger at all times. Once her husband had been killed, she couldn't even bare the site of the young boy and this led her to abusive behaviours towards him. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she gave him one last kick in the stomach before storming off to get some more alcohol. Alcohol drowned all the memories out. She could be at peace with hating her own son and reject the guilt that seeps in once she's sober. The boy groans in pain and lets out a cough that triggers a wave of cold and pain all over his body. He passes out.

Women like the boys mother always make me dispise the human race. They deserve to be dead! Little did I know, I was a bit late with thinking that. The boy introduced himself as Harry and he was 9 years old, he'd be 10 in just a month. Maybe I'll keep him to give him a good birthday for once in his life. Harry goes on to explain about the years of abuse that his mother put him through, about 4 years of abuse. My heart hurt for the poor guy. The people who should've loved and cared for him, dead or should be dead. His eyes gleamed as he told me some of the stories, full of tears but he held them back. A layer overlapped his eyeball trapping the tears there to sting him until he finally lets them go. I held him for a while as he could no longer speak. His words faltered him as he was about to tell me something catastrophic. All memories of the bad times I was having melted away with him, his problems far out-shadowed mine. I believed it was weird for a child to bestow such knowledge onto me without being afraid or anything. He explained that this was due to the fact that he needed to tell someone and he knew I wouldn't cause him issues due to it for some reason.

"When I was born, my tongue hadn't developed properly. It's shorter than it should be. I got bullied a lot in school and my mother used it against me when she was drunk. I got fed up of it all. Once, my mom threw a glass vase at me. It was a big vase and it smashed to pieces on the wall. You see, I love Biology and I've read a lot about it. I know how to do some procedures safely and efficiently. So I got a piece of glass and sewed it onto my tongue. Look!" He Stuck his tongue out, proud of what he'd done. I didn't know whether to applaud, puke or cry. It was horrid. By the looks of it, this was a recent event as there was still old stitches that needed changing and he obviously didn't have the hang of it or else he wouldn't have this many injuries to the mouth area. I was slightly intrigued though. From there, Harry was fuelled by passion. He talked and talked about Biology and all sorts. Very smart child. I had no idea what he was talking about half the time and I'm 11 years older than he is. I got very lost but enjoyed seeing him talk with such vigour. My main skill set lyes within helpful life skills, not so much the academic side of it. I let him blab on for a while until I couldn't hear anymore so I excused myself. Maybe Harry's sugar high was the inability to be quiet. Once I got back out of the restroom, I took Harry to my favourite quiet place: The Canal Bridge.