Inky's Collection of Shorts

Sticks and Stones

Prompt: the song Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood

He spent more time outdoors than actually inside where it was warm, where food was served at regular intervals, where clothes covered the backs of each and every person that ran past.

Regardless of the chill that occasionally came through, or the lackluster taste of the meals, or the itch that always came with the wool used, it was still arguably better inside the large Victorian-era house than it was outside, where wild animals slid from one shadow to another when one wasn't watching.

Or at least, that was what most believed. But he knew better than to stay under the watchful eye of the Matron, staring up at the smile plastered on her face as she promised that a loving guardian would come and pick them up soon. He knew that she cared little for them all. It was a mission, in a sense, ordered by the king. They were nothing to her, and only the little ones truly believed that they had a future beyond being enlisted.

Techno stabbed the ground with the thick stick he'd been carrying, watching it burrow itself through the dirt, leaving a little mound of disarray in its wake. He'd recovered it from where he'd stored it in a hollow tree trunk near the edge of the forest, nestled comfortably next to a bird's nest from however long ago that had long since fallen apart into nothing more than a pile of straw. It was a good length, with a nice weight to it.

It felt like a weapon. It gave the sense that he could actually do something.

A grand delusion, he knew, but it provided the fuel he needed to keep going.

He brushed the hair out of his face and clambered over the fallen tree blocking his path, using the stick to vault him over. By now, he'd already worn a path through the thicket after years of wandering. He could recognize each boulder, each tangle of roots that sprouted from the ground, like a map he'd traced in his sleep.

Sometimes he wondered. If he actually tried to escape, could he do it? They'd never find him in there. The Matron, certainly, could never. He could scale a tree and disappear forever.

Stop that, Techno scolded himself silently, pursing his lips into a frown. You're deluded enough already. There's no point in considering what might happen.

Focus on the present. If there was anything he'd actually learned from his years in the Matron's orphanage, that was it.

"Hey, you."

He whirled around, his wooden stick slashing through the air instinctively at the sudden voice, so close that it seemed as though it was right beside his ear. A muffled yelp, and then Techno was standing over a boy writhing on the ground at his feet, clutching at a gash on his forehead. "Was that necessary?" he protested, glaring up at him.

Techno blinked, focusing on the intruder. Unruly brown hair that curled around his face, as if trying its best to hide his features behind a curtain. Dark eyes that narrowed distrustingly at him, almost accusatory, as if he was the one who had done wrong. He wore the scraggly green outfit that was standard at the orphanage, a color that had been chosen for its ability to hide stains and therefore save on resources.

"Of course it was," Techno replied, lowering his weapon. "It was your fault for sneaking up on me."

He turned away, feeling somewhat miffed that he'd been jumped so easily. How had the boy snuck up on him like that? Sure, he'd been distracted, but not to the point of completely losing sense of his surroundings.

That confirms it, a little voice whispered in his head. You would never be able to escape.

"It was your fault for not paying enough attention," the brown-haired boy grumbled, getting back up onto his feet.

Techno rolled his eyes and began walking. It was incredible how irritated he'd managed to make him after only a couple minutes together. That, he decided, was a sign that he should not stick around.

"Hey!" the boy yelled. The sound of hard footsteps followed, until the two of them were walking side by side. "You can't just leave me after attempted murder," he complained.

"Of course I can," Techno snorted, flicking his stick. The point sliced cleanly through the air, making the boy stumble back in surprise. "I don't know you."

"My name is Wilbur."

"I still don't know you."

"I just told you my name! Now you know me."

His eye twitched. "Names mean nothing," he growled, stopping in his tracks. He turned to Wilbur, who suddenly didn't seem so eager to have gained his attention. "They're labels given to us by fathers who threw us away without hesitation. I don't care what your name is."

"How do you know our fathers didn't hesitate?" Wilbur argued. He planted his hands on his hips and leaned forward. Instinctively, Techno took a step back, before mentally scolding himself and stepping right back. The fire in those dark eyes was bright, almost as strong as the one he'd nurtured deep inside of himself. It was too much to belong to a child. But he pushed forward anyway.

"Of course they didn't," he said dismissively. He threw an arm behind him, gesturing in the direction of the house. "You see that? No one who actually cares would leave their son there. But you're here, and so am I. Your father doesn't care. He never will."

He almost expected the fire in Wilbur's eyes to expand and burn him, leaving a scar to match the one still slowly dripping blood just below the boy's brown hair. Instead, the boy looked away, glaring at his shoes, glistening trails running along his pale cheek.

Their lives was not theirs, given away as offhandedly as a petal falling from its plant. They both knew it.

Silently, Techno sat down next to Wilbur and set down his stick, his weapon, his last stand against the world that treated him so unfairly. As Wilbur's sobs resonated through the forest, enveloped by the branches that reached in towards them, Techno closed his eyes and let the first tears begin to flow.