Still Moving

by BinkertellA113

Set before the events of the first film, 13 year old Romani Saroyan cares for his disabled younger brother, Camilo and their abusive father but wishes to break free from this bleak life. A chance meeting with the mysterious yet gentle bellringer, who struggles with an abusive father himself, shows him that life really can be what you make of it, even in the darkest of times.

He lay on the cold, unforgiving floor, tracing with one thin finger the dust follicles floating in the early morning sun, its light idly let in by the stubborn window. Though his eyes were still focusing themselves to the early daylight, Saroyan managed to track the intricate details of a spider who'd comfortably nested in the top corner of the window, its perfect web still gleaming with the dew of last night's rain.

The young boy lay there still, preferring the hard press of the icy floor on his aching back muscles than to start the equally aching pain of yet another day. Only distantly could he hear the harsh wind outside, it could have been Spring, yet all he can remember this season was rain, heavy and cruel like the winds that shook the thin walls around him.

Saroyan absently brushed a hand through his dark mahogany hair before sliding it down to wipe the last traces of sleep from his eyes. The boy couldn't be older than thirteen, yet within those sleepy deep green eyes lay a wisdom and maturity that far outweighed that of others his age.

It was a maturity bred from the responsibility pushed on him by the cruel mistress that is life. His mother died of childbirth when he was just 7 years old, leaving behind a widower and a baby brother whose future had already been tainted by life's cruel hand with the disabilities it had given him.

A family was destroyed that day, but what shattered the most was the light within the widower's heart. A kind of hatred began to burn within him, a hatred for the reality that will never give him back his wife. Saroyan loved his father and his new baby brother, but the warmth the widowed man once felt around his family was now a distant ember.

The young boy eventually tossed the thin blanket to the side and brought himself to his feet, trying to snuff out every wisp of thought that encouraged him to return to the shallow warmth of his sleeping area. The narrow sunlight instantly washed itself over the boy, the bronze hue of his skin dazzling in its rays.

The small inattentive sighs coming from across the small room announced that Camlo was stirring in his own makeshift bed.

Saroyan decided not to rush his brother getting up, he knew he had had another restless night from his persistent groans and movements. He never could sleep after a beating.

Saroyan would often attempt to cradle his little brother to help him sleep but Camlo would usually try to resist, meekly relaying the words of their father that "real boys don't need affection." Camlo was no more than six years old but from his short life developed an already strong, persevering mind, secured with the unfailing love both brothers had for each other. It was from their shared adversity that strengthened this love; they would never be alone.