"Look dad, that one looks like a snowman!"
Ten year old Hans Davis lay sprawled against the cool summer grass looking up at the sky. A football sat on the ground a few feet behind his head, a ball that was just out of reach of the young boy's diving catch. Hans hadn't been this happy for as long as he could remember, just him and his dad spending time together outside on a sunny day.
"Yeah, it does look like a snowman. I don't know how he's keeping so cool on a day like today though." Hans' father wiped a few drops of sweat of his forehead with the back of his wrist. He looked down at his son stretched across the grass. "Are we out here to look at clouds or to perfect our NFL-star throwing arms?" He asked, jokingly.
Hans got up and grabbed the ball. "Yours could use some work, dad, but mine is ready for the NFL! Just watch!" He lobbed the ball at his father, with a wobbly spiral. His father chuckled and grabbed the ball out of the air. "Keep dreaming, Hans," remarked the older man with a smile before launching a perfect spiral back at the boy.
Hans reached out to catch the ball but it fumbled to the ground. "I'm not dreaming, I'm—"
"Yes you are." Dad lost his smile, and the two of them fell silent for a moment.
"W-what? What do you mean?" Hans muttered, confused.
"Wake up, Hans."
"Dad you're scaring me—"
"Wake up. Wake up!"
Hans woke up. He was lying in bed, and his arm was dangling over the side. Someone was shaking his arm, someone from the bottom bunk, and Hans slowly came back to reality.
"Wake up, Hans," the voice from the bottom bunk called to him. "Wake up!"
Hans sat up and stretched, and made a noise that told the voice from the bottom bunk that Hans was up and stretching. "Ugghhhh… What do you want? I was asleep. What time is it?" Hans called back.
Hans looked out a window and saw nothing but darkness, and this worried him.
The voice replied to him. "I want you to go downstairs and get me a drink of water. I'm thirsty."
Hans had now come completely back to reality. He came back to his top bunk in a big room at the Southern Isles Foster Home. He recognized the unnamed voice, and then he put a name to it. Ethan. Ethan was almost four years older than Hans, and was bigger and stronger as well. Ethan was bigger and stronger than most of the other boys, and this granted him respect from their simpler minds. Hans clutched his stuffed snowman tightly, his snowman named Olaf.
"Why can't you get it yourself? I'm not moving, jerk. Goodnight." Hans hoped that would be the end of it, but part of him knew that was just wishful thinking.
Ethan climbed the ladder to Hans' top bunk. "Get it myself? Why would I do that when you have a perfectly fine set of legs to do it for me? I'm going to count to five and if you aren't on your way to the water cooler when I'm done counting, I'm going to rip the fucking head off of your stupid little snowman. Deal?" Hans couldn't see very far in front of him but he could sense Ethan's vicious little eyes focused on him. He pulled his snowman tighter to him and rolled over, trying to ignore the other boy.
Ethan started counting. "Five." Hans lay still.
"Four…three…..two…" Hans hardened the grip on his snowman and clenched his eyelids tightly.
"One. Bad choice Davis." Ethan climbed up onto the bed and rolled Hans over onto his back. He wrestled the little snowman out of the boy's hands and jumped down onto the floor.
"Ha! I got little Hans' snowman!" Exclaimed Ethan. The other boys in the room started waking up at all the commotion and someone turned on the light. There were eleven other boys in the room besides Hans and Ethan. "Teddy bears are for babies, Hans. Are you a baby?" Ethan asked menacingly.
"No!" cried Hans. "I'll get you your water, just give back Olaf!"
"Olaf?! Ha ha, you even named the stupid thing? No, sorry Hans, it's too late. You had your chance to get me water. But, I guess since you aren't a baby you won't mind if I do this."
Ethan firmly gripped the body of the poor little snowman with his left hand and the head with his right. He pulled hard, and the soft material surrendered to the force. Olaf's little head was ripped clean off and a small explosion of stuffing erupted from the neck. Hans felt tears forming in his eyes and jumped down onto the ground.
"Ha! I told you you were a baby! Look, he's crying at the stupid little teddy bear!"
The whole room erupted in laughter.
Hans ran towards Ethan and threw a fist into his face. The other boy reeled from the pain, and turned his head back towards Hans. The voices surrounding Hans gasped in unison. He gulped.
"You shouldn't have done that Hans."
The smaller boy started backing up. "I'm s-sorry Ethan, I really didn't mean to. I-I'll go get your water." He started walking towards the door. Suddenly, the other boys jumped off their beds in a pursuit towards Hans. "You're really going to regret doing that you little faggot," Ethan repeated.
Hans was tugged to the ground, and several little hands held him in place. "I'm sorry Ethan, please stop." He whimpered.
Ethan walked up to the restrained boy and hit him hard in the face. In a fit of rage he started letting off blow after blow on the younger boy's head.
A figure appeared in the doorway. A tall figure. One that towered over the twelve other boys. Hans caught a glimpse of the figure before passing out, and in his damaged little head he saw an angel that would save him from the twelve monsters of the Southern Isles.
