HE felt his body collapse within itself, aching for the torture to stop, as he braced himself for further impact.
His attempts were futile as the boy's fist reached his stomach, knocking the raven haired boy of his life, his air, bit by bit.
The first time he had been hit like this, he cried out for help. But his words were unheard for so long, that eventually, he gave up.
It was much easier than trying to fight each blow, each time his skin ripped, every time the other boys tried to paint him with purple.
"You're a fucking pussy, you know that Eli!?" Marcus shouted, making his friends drop Eli's body down to the concrete "Fight back, you fucker!"
Eli's eyes stayed hollow, fixated on the one dandelion in the crack of the alley his eyes met with as his lip bled onto his tongue.
The metallic taste was so disgustingly familar.
The boys gave up with the lifeless body, laughing as they left Eli to hold desperately into whatever life he had left.
Sometimes he thought about leaving himself for dead by the streets they pulled him to. His blood would paint the ground in lustrous crimson, draining him of his life. His eyes could meet the clouds, finally letting his own irises rain.
He lay idle, incapable of movement, for at least an hour, watching the horizon as the sun began its slow decent. He thought about staying another hour or so, just to watch the sky light up like fire in the late afternoon glow. The colours he saw in afternoons like these ones were those he was jealous of. He wished his pain could be that vibrant.
But it wasn't. It was grey, like the pavement he was thrown to, and it was red, like the blood that spilled from his open skin.
It was ugly.
It always would be.
YOU ARE READING
looking too closely | late 2018
Short Storyin which a boy begged for solace and the other bled for happiness. * cover by the brilliant @CHALKNCHEESE-
