Hell~o boys!

My new story. I got the inspiration while reading Victor Hugo's Les Misérabes. There was that part which really made my heart melt, about two children left by their mother...

I wrote this! Enjoy and don't forget to review, please!

'But… Where's Mamma?'

A small boy – skinny, poorly dressed and barely nine – was standing in front of a semi-old house. His hair was fair and short, though long bangs were hiding his childish eyes.

The boy was called Bel.

At his side was standing another child, a bit smaller than him. That was his younger brother, Fran. At that time Fran had just reached his seventh year. He had odd green hair which had more than once attracted people's attention, mostly children of his age who found in that fact a subject of joke and bullying. So, to prevent his brother to be severely wounded by his bullies, Bel had since long learnt to stay with him in order to protect him from the older ones, like that day after school classes. The world had no pity for two children who had no father, no name, who lived with their mother only in a shanty. They had no friend at all, nor at school, nor in the neighborhood.

With time the little Fran grew to be a strange child, still and with eyes strangely placid, as if he had already seen all the misfortune in this world, that was of course false. No need to say the two boys were often rejected by the other children because of that fact, and maybe some others – who would ever understand children's own logic?

A middle-aged lady was standing in front of the house, frowning at the two kids. She sighed with nervousness.

'I told you that your mother's gone!' She half-yelled, half-sighed. 'Don't ask me where. The house has been left like this since that morning. In any case it had been ages since she last paid the rent. I was already planning to throw you out, so it's nice for me.'

What was that? Mamma? Gone? Bel couldn't understand it. That morning she still was with them, having breakfast and smiling like every day! Of course they were poor; as young as he was, Bel could understand that obvious reality, grown-up people's pitiless world. Yet, they were happy together! Mamma always said that, even if sometimes she was crying in the kitchen, or having a very, very sad face when she was back from work, very late at night (the blonde would wait for her, as late as he could stay awake. Fran couldn't, he was too young)… But not once she had said such awful thing as leaving them behind! Never!

'You… You're lying! Mamma must be there! Madam, please, you have to find her!' Bel tried desperately to convince the lady – and maybe himself. Fran was staring at the wretched street they had always lived in with empty eyes. The dreadful situation they were in didn't seem to trouble him that much.

The landlady scowled at that little rascal. How could a child like him dare tell her what to do? 'Okay, listen boys.' She folded her arms. 'Your mother is gone. I don't know where. But that sort of thing, it's just happening every day in here, you understand? I can't do anything about it. Now, go away before I seriously think about deadly clouting you!'

Then she slammed the door – that door Bel had once thought it would always be their impregnable protector.

The skinny child and his younger brother were left there, on the landing of their former house.

'Brother.' Fran finally uttered, as awaken from his slumber by the slammed of the door. 'What's happening?'

What's happening? Bel would have like someone to explain him. For a child of his age, the boy was indeed very clever; some would even call him a genius. Yet that kind of situation… How would a nine-year old child react to something like that?

'I … I don't know…' He muttered, more for himself than for Fran.

Watching right and left, Fran grabbed his brother's tiny hand. A small, fragile hand; the hand of a kid. 'Why aren't we going back home? And where's mamma?'

Hearing those words, Bel's heart wringed. He clenched his teeth.

'Mamma … Is gone, the landlady said. This isn't our home anymore.'

'Why? That morning Mom said she's going to buy a hu~ge cake for us! Why wouldn't she buy it?'

Did that woman say that? He assumed yes, as Fran remembered. Bel couldn't remember exactly his mother talked about that. But did he care? That woman left them! She left them, alone; they didn't even have a house anymore! Nowhere to go back… Nowhere to go… What was they supposed to do henceforth? They didn't know anyone else; they didn't have another family but their mother… Friends? There was none. Or had she ever mentioned anyone close enough to them… Someone, anyone…

'Brother!' Fran's voice suddenly raised, his grip tightening.

Then Bel saw why: a group of children – maybe five or six, dark eyes and angry smiles on their lips – there or thereabouts the same age as them, were gathering in front of their house, right before them. He hadn't notice their presence before Fran called him – the reason could be seen on his brother's overall: a huge stain of mud was soiling the thin cloth.

'Hey, freaks!' One of the children – the oldest it seemed – snickered. 'That big liar of Dordoni just told us that the puttana you call your mother had left you. Is that true?'

'Bo-hoo-hoo!' Another boy laughed while pretending crying. 'Poor little things! Oh, so sad!'

'Was she fed up of seeing you freaks every day?' A third said. 'I can understand: you're hideous, dude!'

'Yes, yes! Hideous! Monstrous! Awful freaks!' They all sang together.

Again. Having those stupid kids annoying them like that was a common thing for the two brothers – eternal fate of marginal people. The only solution they found to it was staying together, no matter what, and ignoring the mockery. And at that moment, more than ever, they had to stay together. Bel could endure their stupidity, but he was afraid for Fran. Instinctively the blonde pulled his brother behind him.

A kid threw mud at them. 'Tell something, freaks! What's with you! Wanna cry 'cause Mamma isn't there anymore?'

Burst of laughs from the others.

'Make them cry! Make them cry!'

'I think the older's gonna burst! Do you see it? Do you see it?'

'You wanna fight, freak? Go cut you stupid hair before! Ugly monster!'

'Ugly monster! Ugly monster!'

The bullying had last for about ten minutes. People were passing by, watching at the kids as if that was some new kind of play, then went on.

'Ah! Ah! Ah!' The first kid cruelly laughed. 'He's gonna cry! Keep on, guys! He's gonna- A dull sound. Ouch!'

He fell on his knees, rubbing hurtfully at his head as if something had just hit it.

'Vitto? What's wrong wi- Another dull sound. Ouch!'

The second boy fell with the same fashion as his older.

'Hey! Someone's throwing stones at us!' Another one bellowed. Right after they were all watching at every sides of the street for the damned brat who had done that to their friends.

'Get out from your hole, bastardo!' The first boy roared, back on his feet. 'Or are you too a coward of a man to face your opponents before attacking them?'

A ferric laugh burst in the middle of nowhere, tearing the stillness where the children were left in after that unexpected assault. And then he appeared from his hiding-place, behind a corner. Him, a boy older than Bel – perhaps twelve or thirteen, the blonde couldn't exactly say as the boy was really lean, more than the bullies; him, his alert legs drawing him nearer end nearer to the group; him, his blazing spiky hair shining in the setting sun's last ray (but it was actually silvery, almost white, as Bel could see it when he was near enough), framing his proud and childlike features yet distorted by a deep scowl and a wicked grin showing shining teeth. It was the first time Bel saw that boy in their district – he sure he was, such a freak couldn't go unnoticed. The boy was waving a sword with his left hand, but it was still sheathed in its cover.

When he saw the bewildered/wrathful faces of the bullies, the silver head laughed – a loud, mocking laugh, which was passing himself off more as an anime's bad guy rather than the hero.

'Voooi! Coward, you say?' He shouted. His voice was as sharp as a saw, his shark-like fangs bearing the comparison. 'Little trash. You sure are one to talk! Don't you feel the least ashamed assaulting two brats half your height with your brainless friends?'

More or less back from their first amazement, the bullies were eyeing dangerously the new comer.

'And what the hell is your name?' The first bully, assumedly the leader, raised and pointed a grubby thumb to his chest. 'Mine is Vittorio Mancinelli, son of Umberto Mancinelli!' His chest was about to burst, Bel noted. For the kid, it was actually a great pride for him to tell to everyone that his father was the son of the local upholsterer. Nevertheless, it had no effect on the stranger.

The silverette's grin widened. He leaned on his sword, almost as tall as him.

'Voi. I'm Superbi Squalo, son of no one, and the guy who's going to kick your sorry asses off, trashes.'

That day, Superbi Squalo had woken up with a hellish stiff neck. Maybe it was due to his damn pillow, as hard as a stack of rocks, or maybe it was due to the fact that he could simply not sleep in a normal position, or maybe both. However it didn't avert the fact that he woke up that morning on the floor of his minuscule, miserable flat, his bed upside down, and a fucking knot in his back – word for word.

To divert himself from the pain, he went for a walk. Mid-afternoon he still was walking in the populous streets, elbowing his way in the compact crowd. The passers-by were watching at the twelve years old boy with angry looks, glaring at his ragged clothes and the sheathed sword in his hand (sword that had never left him for years). Squalo had since long got accustomed to arrogant strangers looking down at him as if he was the scum of the earth. He didn't care. For him they were anything more than trashes, scraps soiling his landscape that should just go die already.

Yet the boy wasn't sour. His life wasn't a prince's one-like, but that was his life – his rules, his freedom, his pride – and he needed no more.

Gurgling sounds in his stomach. Now he thinks about it, he hadn't eaten anything since last night. That wasn't for want of appetite, but this month's budget went unexpectedly short. Well, it was a common occurrence. He would have to see if they had some extra job for him to do at the railways.

'Ah. But it's already evening. Is it even possible to… Mmh?'

That was odd. He had never crossed that town's area before. Squalo wasn't afraid (he's never afraid!) but he wasn't sure of the way he had to take to go back at the main streets. The district was deplorable: antic houses with faded yellow walls falling into disrepair where packs of families still were living in. There were old women with sad faces, as yellow as the walls, sitting on the landing, talking in an idle moment, their all life. Dirty children were running everywhere, playing straight in the mud, in an upsetting reek in the air; a scrawny, filthy, mangy dog was rummaging in a mount of garbage, about to give up the ghost …

"Ugh! That place is depressing. No way am I staying here." The boy thought. He was about to leave when he heard some high-pitched cries coming from behind one of those indistinguishable buildings. They were like children's. Squalo gave an ear.

'… Hideous! Monstrous! Awful freaks!' He could hear.

Intrigued, the silverette followed them until he fell on the previous scene. It wasn't a very funny scene – six brats tormenting two others, almost babies (but he actually found their look quiet odd: the bigger had bangs hiding completely his eyes and the smaller green hair); it only added to all the depressing effect of the place. The swordsman-to-be boy decided the view wasn't worth his time, he turned tails. Behind cruel laughs still were echoing.

'…Wanna cry 'cause Mamma isn't there anymore? ...'

Squalo sighed. Really, weren't there any grown asses people to check on their own children? The boy was no hero, no Superman or the nice guy from that TV show, the big brother. He kept on walking.

'…I think the older's gonna burst! …'

How stupid. Stupid, childish, puerile fights…

'… Ugly monster! Ugly monster! ...'

Finally he stopped.

'Voi! You asked for it, brats!' Squalo roared to himself. Turning back to the previous spot, he picked up a stone on the ground and, lightly throwing it in the air, he hit it hard with his sheathed sword, in the same way a baseball player would hit a homerun. 'Tok!' The stone went directly on the bullying leader's head.

'Ouch!' He could hear from the wounded kid. Without waiting, he took another rock and with the same swift move, it went on the back of the second's head. 'Ouch!'

The boy smirked at his throw's accuracy, spoiling himself with the results. After all, being Batman wasn't that bad, Squalo thought. The moment was the best for a dramatic entrance. Baring his teeth and scowling even more, he was ready for his one man show.

TBC