Curse Uncurse - ONC 2020 [Completed]

Chapter 11: The Vanguards

Authors note: Before we begin with this chapter, I would like to say that the first part of this chapter is a memory and therefore written in italics to signify its happenings occurring in the past. 

Light streaks through the verdant canopy of leaves, leaving bright patches on dew-damp dirt. Twigs catch in his clothes and thorns scratch at his uncovered skin as he runs...or as he tries to run. He's quite slow in making his way through the forest edge, sliding between old, fat trunks and grabby shrubs. Only the sturdy material of his clothing seems to be the reason why his shirt and pants are in one piece.

Another scratch on his hand is enough to send him in another crying fit. Even though he has promised himself he won't cry. Not any more. But it doesn't work. A promise is not enough to keep tears, heavy and filled with emotion, at bay.

He isn't crying because of the wound. No, his knees and elbows are crisscross patches of scars, old and new, just showing how he's never afraid to get hurt while playing outside. He's crying because of something else entirely, something that he has no idea why it is happening.

He sniffs once more before roughly rubbing at his eyes, or as roughly as a child can. He's not proud of that, and he doesn't like that his strength isn't more. Then others wouldn't pick on him. Like this, he's too small and too frail to fight back. And even when he fights back, grown-ups scoff at him with anger as if he's some kind of vermin.

The men in dark clothing aren't nice, but there's a certain kindness in their indifference. He likes them more than other grownups... or maybe they are grownups, also. He doesn't care because they don't yell at him, nor do they watch him with those ugly eyes. He just wants it all to go back when it was normal. When he was normal. When the parents didn't whisk away their children reminding him that he had turned different.

He realizes the tears are futile and angrily kicks at the small rock on the ground. He ducks when it almost ricochets into his face.

The beginning of the forest isn't far away and he still knows how to get back to the town but if he keeps on it won't be the case anymore. Stomping over the tiny dirt path, his small feet don't make much sound, and he wonders if anyone will miss him if he just disappears.

He shrugs, thinking he could turn back at the first sign of night overcasting the area. No one will bother him then. A market near the orphanage will be closed, people scattered to the other parts of the town. He wipes his nose into the sleeve of the shirt, feeling marginally better because there's no one to admonish him for that slight transgression. Why can't he just wipe his nose in his sleeve? It's not like it won't get dirty after a day out in the woods.

He wins a fight against big bushes, pushing through where limbs close the space off, drops out to a clearing. Only his reflexes save him from landing face-first on the ground covered with dead, yellowish leaves.

Laughter follows, and he scrambles to his feet in a hurry. There shouldn't be anyone out there aside from him.

Directly across, sitting at the foot of a grand oak tree and leaning comfortably to its brown bark, is a woman. She laughs once more when he detects her, though it doesn't seem she has noticed him at all. He wonders why she is laughing all alone. He hasn't laughed ever since everyone left him.

Maybe she won't be like others, his young mind cannot but hope. Yet, hope is a fickle thing.

He has never seen someone like her around the town. He would remember that long, silver hair, caressing her face, her shoulders. The sun falls on her bronze skin where knee-length breeches don't reach and her beige shirt looks worn out. She laughs once more, tipping her head back against the tree and closing her eyes. A shift of leaves in the brief gush of the wind opens space for the sun to reach almost all of her, making her practically glow among browns and greens; he can't think anything less than she is like an angel!