Just a little short that came to me and begged me to write it while putting off the next chapter of For Whom the Bell Tolls... it'll get up soon, don't riot! In the meantime, enjoy this. I'll leave it up to you which brother it's about, because I wrote it with one in mind, but really, it could be either, and both.
Review, prettty please?
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He was a peculiar boy... she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He was young, but rebellious, adopting a kind of James Dean persona long before his teenage years, labeled a bad boy by his peers, not shunned, but quietly admired in that way kids have of doing.
He was smart, quick and with a sharper tongue than a kid his age should have. He never volunteered, but when a addressed with a question, he always had the answer. He scored well on tests, but never turned in homework.
When she asked him about this, he shrugged and said, "More important things in the world than turning in papers."
Threatened with punishment and low marks, he had smirked and said the same about grades, but when prodded about what could be more important than creating a future, he grew serious.
"Preserving the future," he'd said simply. "Can I go?"
That week, the injuries started. Bruises, cuts, occasionally a broken bone, always excused seamlessly as battle wounds from baseball, proudly displayed, or accidental falls, marked with sheepish smiles and shuffling feet.
Normally, she would have reported them, but he never showed the typical signs of abuse victims. To be safe, she called a meeting with the father, who smiled and shook his head.
"Boys will be boys," he said, and that was all he could offer.
The boy regarded his father with admiration in his eyes, transformed into the perfect child at his father's side.
And that was that.
There was never a week that went by without a new bruise showing up, and fresh cuts appeared before the old ones had a chance to heal. Black eyes, broken arms, split lips were old hat with this child.
The rest of the children admired him silently, this quiet boy and his mysterious injuries. He rarely spoke up unless addressed first, never offered information, and rarely provided it when asked.
He started missing school, at first a day here and there, then weeks at a time.
Concerned, she had no choice but to report it to the social worker liaison for the school. Agreeing that it was odd, no matter how close a relationship the father and son seemed to have, it was their duty to make sure.
Word came soon after that the boy was removed from school the family had moved.
She wondered about that family often, but sooner or later it slipped her mind, as most things tend to do with time.
He had a lot of potential, she would remember.