Of Monsters, Of Men

Chapter 1

Summer 1936

The steamy afternoon summer heat radiated down Harry Peters' extremities. Creasing his eyebrows, Harry scratched at the collar of his threadbare uniform, the coarse cotton itching the hollow of his throat. Sweat flowed in small rivulets down his body, staining his clothing.

"Come on," Harry murmured, leaning forward to inspect the deck of cards laid out on the rickety wooden table.

Reaching out to his pile of downturned cards, he flipped over a queen onto the center pile. Slap! His hand hit the deck, Tom's hand landing on top of his a second later. He grinned.

Ignoring the sting in his hand, Harry crowed, "Yes! A double!"

He added the pile of cards to his deck and waited for Tom. But as Tom flipped his card over, a sharp poke on his shoulder caused him to whip his head around. Harry resisted the urge to scowl.

Figures it would be Billy.

"Can I play?" Billy asked, pointing at his deck of cards.

Like a persistent mosquito in the lazy summer heat, Billy Stubbs never learned to leave him alone, no matter how many times he was rejected.

Irritated at what felt like the tenth interruption, Harry rolled his eyes.

"Go away, Billy. We're busy." Tom retorted before resuming, placing down a jack. Tom's mouth curved in triumph as he slapped the deck. The giant pile containing half of the deck went straight into Tom's hand. Harry groaned.

"Interference! You distracted me." Turning to face Billy, he said, "Go away, Billy."

Billy's cheeks flushed red as he crossed his arms and scowled at Harry. "Tom, can I play? I'm better than him."

"No. You're worse. I'd win in two minutes if I played you," Tom replied, never taking his eyes off the deck as he flipped his card down on the table.

"Just leave already," Harry snapped, glaring at Billy. Glancing back, he watched as Tom slapped the deck and collected the joker. "We don't want to play with you."

Flustered, Billy's neck and cheeks reddened. He stomped his feet and spat, "Nobody wants to play with you freaks anyways. Why do you think it's only you two that ever play together?"

Harry snorted, "At least I have someone. You switch friends like Mrs. Cole switches bottles of gin."

Billy yelled incoherently, his words garbled into a mess of unintelligible noises. He reached over and snatched Harry's glasses off of his face, dangling them by the earpiece.

"Give it back," Harry shouted. Reaching out for his glasses, he missed by a few inches.

Billy sneered, dangling his glasses out of reach. "I don't think so, ungrateful freak."

As Billy dropped his glasses, Harry surged forward to snatch them, but to his horror, he fell off the bench. Billy's foot stepped on his glasses with a loud stomp.

As the crunch of glass resonated across the harsh concrete, Harry glanced around wildly at the rest of the deathly silent orphans, feeling his face flush as everyone stared at him, his back throbbing and palms screaming.

Billy started roaring with laughter, pointing at Harry and doubling over. As tears flooded his eyes, Harry struggled to his feet, unable to ignore the pain and humiliation. One by one, the orphans followed Billy's lead. A chorus of snickers, giggles, and laughter filled the room.

"You-You!" Harry spat, his eyes burning.

Harry launched himself at Billy. He sidestepped his attack, grin growing smugger as Harry fell down, his hands and knees hitting the concrete. Harry couldn't help but grimace at the stabbing sensations in his palms. Flexing his hand, the splinters pushed deeper into his flesh.