Experiment Scarecrow

Prologue

The laughter of two boys echoed throughout the woods; ringing off the trunks of trees. A six-year-old boy with his seven-year-old brother, tossing a red ball back and forth to each other in the front lawn. Hissing, the older brother slapped a mosquito sucking at his arm, squishing it across his palm.

"The bugs are bad this year," he muttered, before passing the ball back to his younger brother. 

The younger brother giggled, clutching the ball to his chest before sticking out his tongue. "Well too bad, I'm not giving the ball back now. You'll have to catch me to get it!" He teased, whirling around to sprint around the house and into the backyard, where a tree line served as the border into the woods.

His older brother giggled, pushing off his heel to follow until the familiar call of his mother forced him to stop. A quiet sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he ambled back toward the white siding home. 

"I'll be back!" he cried to his brother, beginning to climb the wooden porch up to the threshold.

The wooden steps creaked despite his lightweight figure. He carefully reached forward, opening the glass-paned door before slipping inside, hovering close to it as it eased shut behind him.

The young boy's eyes wandered across the yellow-themed kitchen before him, leading into the dining room, to the north, where his mother sat at an oak table, with a needle and thread in hand.

She was a prim and proper looking woman; her light brown hair wrapped in a tightly woven bun; her pale face revealing high cheekbones along with thinning lips. She often wore a floral dress or a cardigan sweater with dark washed jeans, despite the summer heat.

Her dark eyes momentarily flicked up to him, but not quite daring to make eye contact with her own son, before returning her focus to hemming her youngest son's dark washed jeans.

"What'd ya call me in for?" her oldest son asked, watching her poke the needle through the fabric. 

"You. Not 'ya,'" she muttered in frustration, eyes finally lifting to meet his almond colored eyes. 

She looked over her son's thinning figure, a facial expression spreading across her face--a mixture of disgust and disapproval. 

His mother shook her head, returning her focus to hemming the jeans. 

"How was your day at school today?" she asked. 

Looking down to his feet, he began to shift uncomfortably, searching for the best answer he could provide. "Fine. I got an A on my math test, why?" he asked apprehensively.

Another sigh escaped, shaking her head in disapproval yet again. "That is wonderful and all, but I'm talking about socially. How did your day go socially? Did you make any friends finally?"  she pressed with a dismissive tone.

The young boy shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. "No, I didn't. I dunno why you care anyways," he grumbled quietly, eyes suddenly widening at the realization of what slipped out. 

His mother's shoulders grew rigid--her entire body growing tense with a lift of her head; eyes narrowing in on her son.

"A social life means everything. It is the key to survival in this world. You will get NOWHERE without any form of popularity. Especially in this town, you need to have a good reputation and having a well-known family to thrive," his mother explained with a snapping tone, eyes locking with her son's--a rare moment he never seemed to experience unless it were moments like these.

A tense silence fell over her son, returning a blank expression as his answer. 

With a quiet sigh in defeat, she dropped the jeans and the needle on the table's surface, placing her face within her hands; finding that the message wasn't getting across to him. "I don't know why you can't be like your brother," she murmured, voice muffled in her hands. 

The words struck him, similar to a punch to the gut. His cheeks brightened; his face filling with an expression of deep rage. In attempts to force down his anger, his voice wavered, cautiously parting his lips as he spoke, "I don't wanna be like him! At least I'm nice to people, and I treat people like I wanna be treated, and I don't act fake like I'm a totally different person around others!" 

The chair scraped back across the floor as his mother rose from the table, hands slamming against the surface, now furious. "I get tired of explaining to everyone why you avoid sports, and isolate yourself unlike your brother, who is a social butterfly! Everyone asks and I must say, 'my son prefers to befriend crows over people!' I'm tired of having to tell everyone that! It is embarrassing!" she cried, blood rushing to her own cheeks, seeming to be on the verge of tears.

Her son's eyes cast down to the floor momentarily, before flicking back up to meet her own. The usual striking fear he experienced, each time he spoke up for himself against her, seemed to fade; now replaced with a strive for the challenge. 

"You don't have to say that. You choose to say that because you don't want to lie because it's a sin. Well, Mom, sometimes we need to lie in life to protect others' feelings, but I guess you can't even do that for me." He looked back to the wood floor momentarily as the inflicting fear began to return, but instead, he forced it back, eyes now lifting to lock with his mother's  familiar cold, dark eyes--not daring to stray for them.

"Besides, the crows are nicer to me. They don't judge me, and they don't care how 'popular' I am. They just want me to care for them, and to be kind to them. I wish people were like that too, but—" Before he could finish, his mother's shrill scream interrupted, forcing him to back down in silence. 

"You had a choice! There are people out there who are truly kind, and willing to care for you, but no, you must choose the crows over everyone else in this town!" 

The dining room fell into an unsettling silence once again as she dramatically sank back down into the chair--hands lifting to cover her face once more in a defeated position.

"Go to your room and wait until your father gets home." 

A tinge of panic washed over him as the paralyzing fear returned. He had known the consequences for such an outburst, but had pressed on anyway. He forced his eyes to narrow once again, before spinning on his heel to storm into the hall at his left.

"No one ever tried, nor will they because of you," he hissed quietly, walking to the far end of the hall before turning and slamming his door shut.