It Starts
The rain finally stopped, clouds shifting to let renewed blue past the grey, the grass looked greener for it, brighter and more luxurious. The children that had retreated earlier into houses when the sudden downpour hit now emerged cautiously and smiles slowly climbed their faces. Eventually the whole lot were outside again kicking about their footballs and doing what kids do. It was beautiful – so picturesque.
"Shit." A cigarette flips from two fingers to the wet ground with a sizzle as the two elements meet. The end still a red hot shine amidst the smoke until a pair of heavy Doc Martin's step out into the light from the cover of a protruding roofs edge, crushing the dying glow.
The owner of the voice smiled slowly. A skeletal grin of the famished, his body a platter of bones for dogs to chew on. He was no more than a caged presence now. Watched by mistrusting eyes of muggles and searched for by the other world, searched for and scorned by the world of witches - his own world.
Stony eyes followed the rough leather toy that rolled and stopped at his feet and swivelled up. A small boy had stopped about six meters away; his gaze on the ball then up at the leather clad man and smiled, his innocent, un-fearing eyes lighting up at the prospect of not having to continue the chase.
Bones cracked inside the jacket as the man bent and retrieved the ball although he, instead of throwing it back, began toward the boy. When reaching the child he bent down to put himself level with the child's face. The ball was held in neutral as a gravel thick voice ground out simple words to the child, simple words and questions.
The boy had seemed daunted by the sudden proximity of the man and his smile had faded but returned as he nodded and pointed in a direction down the street, a bookstore? The man chuckled and stood handing over the ball; dropping a hand to disturb the boy's hair before stalking off down the road.
"Always in the books…"
TBC
