Keys

The metal bit into his hand. It stung, to say the least, but that sensation took the back burner in his mind in a way that meant he wasn't bothered in the slightest. What did bother him; what did have his full attention; was the whispers. The hidden eyes, rushed footsteps, and curtains smoothly sliding closed. This caused an unpleasant stirring in his stomach.

At this point he realized it shouldn't have. He had hoped his pride was too busy hefting bricks to patch up the wall that fought to avoid destruction a year or two ago. He knew this was just wishful thinking as a seed of restlessness seated deep within his belly. It wasn't the sort of plant you wanted growing there; it hadn't been nurtured lovingly with patience and a kind hand. This botany's childhood was closer to being shoved under a lamp in hopes it would turn a cheek to the artificial conditions that had been provided. Sadly, one could always tell the difference.

So when the phrase that was often found skulkingly tiptoeing around tripped into his eardrum, that one seed cracked open and a thorny vine slithered out. He's just a latch key kid.