Chara awoke to the bright rays of the sun gleaming in through his window; he had fallen asleep without shutting the blinds. The child stirred and covered his face with his hands, whining. Sleepiness clung to him, and his blanket was warm and comforting, but he stood up anyway. It was Friday.
A soft knock on the door startled the boy; it was the knock of his mother. Normally, this would not alarm the child, for his mother might be strict at times, but she was hardly unfair, until last night: the first time Chara recalled his mother losing her temper. He knew what she had been going to say last night. She had been about to affirm his dark suspicions before she left the room, he just knew it.
"I'm getting dressed," he lied smoothly, hiding the hurt in his voice.
"Alright, I just wouldn't want you to be late for school."
"I won't," the boy huffed.
"…Your father wouldn't want you to be late for school."
The child swallowed and stood, hoping the squeak of the bed's springs didn't alert her to his deception.
"I won't," he walked over to the full-length mirror in his room, right next to his closet door, "I'm getting dressed," he repeated.
Chara pulled his shirt over his head. The bruises from a few nights ago were beginning to fade, but were still visible and slightly tender, he learned as he poked one under his ribs. His cheeks were red, but they were naturally rosy, and when he stripped off his pants, and turned slightly, he saw that the top of his left thigh was still blushing light pink. He whined slightly, and then shuffled over to his closet, grabbing a light blue button up shirt and a navy jacket. His fingers were practiced in buttoning up the shirt, and the jacket was even easier, but he couldn't seem to locate his black pants. He looked in the closet, and then under his bed, but they were missing.
Downstairs, his mother was buttering a piece of toast and placing it on a paper plate next to a bowl of cereal at the table. She smiled weakly when she heard her son, but did not look up.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
The boy stayed silent for a moment, then mumbled, "Morning, Mama," then louder he asked, "Have you seen my school pants?"
His mother looked up suddenly, then laughed. The boy was stood in a dress shirt and pristine jacket, and his underwear. She nodded and went to the laundry room to grab a small pair of black slacks, then handed them to her son.
"Thanks, Mama," he said softly, and pulled them on, there in the hall.
Chara ran to the table and sat in the chair in front of the cereal and toast, eating quickly. With the last bites of toast in his mouth, he pulled on his light brown socks and then tossed the plate in the trashcan and the ceramic bowl in the sink for his mother to wash. His mother leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Chara thought about not returning the gesture, for the first time in his life, but reconsidered, stood on his tiptoes, and kissed the woman on her cheek.
He walked over to the door, put on his black school shoes, and left his room, bag slung over his shoulder.
/
"Oof!" was the only sound the child could emit as his face dug into the soft earth.
Chara had become very well acquainted with the ground in recent years. There once was a time when he had tried to fight back, but now he simply pulled his legs into his chest and covered his face with his arms as the older children hurt him. The oldest of the group stepped over, spewing words of hate, leaned down and reached a hand out. His fingers curled and tore into Chara's brunette locks, snapping the victim's head back at a painful force.
The younger boy cried out and clawed into the dirt, but received a boot to the face and spit on his head by another boy. The first smashed his head into the ground several times, but Chara closed his mouth and refused to make a sound. He was determined not to give them the satisfaction.
They were still yelling at him, but the words were so mingled, and miniscule compared to the physical abuse he was suffering, that he could not make them out. After a bit, the boys became bored, and left Chara there, helpless in the dirt. He stood, wiped some of the grime from his face, and walked to school on shaky legs. Class would begin soon, and he couldn't be late again. He ran.
And then he collided with another boy.
"Watch it squirt," the fifth grader pushed Chara's the shoulder, sending the smaller boy to the floor.
Chara scowled and spit out, "Sorry," before standing and rushing to class again.
/
A young boy walked along the dirt road, keeping close to the grass and staring at the small, yellow flowers that were just beginning to bloom. He smiled.
Then his face was crushing those flowers after a hard shove. He thought he had waited long enough after school, risking the anger of his father to avoid his bullies, but it seemed they had been waiting for him.
Chara growled, clenching a fist, and turned. If they wanted a fight, he would give them one, but instead of pursuing him, they ran past him, laughing. They didn't want to be in trouble for taking too long, Chara realized. He sighed and picked himself up off the ground, running home, himself.
/
The child sat on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, arms resting on them and cradling his head. He was beginning to accept that no matter how hard he tried, his life would not get better. One of his hands moved and idly poked one of the bruises on his stomach. Tears began forming in his green eyes, and his lips quivered. He adjusted his position, so his feet were on the floor, and pulled his pajama pants down just above his knee. His fingers arched in a clawed formation, and he dragged his nails across his skin, digging in deep until he saw blood, but it did not fall. It wasn't a messy process, and it helped him feel better, helped him concentrate, but it caused a sharp sting to stroke across his leg. He repeated the process, mumbling a soft mantra to himself as he did.
"Big kids don't cry, Chara. Big kids don't cry."
And he didn't. It was a soothing motion, and the sight of blood calmed him. Blood was familiar. Something he was used to. And when he did this to himself…it was the only time he was in control of the pain that he felt.
His mother had always turned a blind eye to his father's beatings until almost a year back when he had nearly broken the child's skull. That was when she decided to step in, when she decided it had gotten too far. She didn't want him either, he knew this; she would never admit it, but he knew this was how she felt. His father had no qualms with telling him how much of a mistake he was. Chara knew both their lives would be better if he was dead, or better yet, if he had never been born at all. He couldn't fix that; whether he wanted to be or not, he had already been born. But he could disappear.
The thought rolled around in his head, and the longer it lingered, the better it sounded. He lowered his head, then stood and approached his window, looking out at the town he lived in, and up at the crescent moon.
"Please take me away…" the boy whispered up to the stars, "I don't wanna be here."
Bitterly, he laughed, and stumbled over to his bed, laying down and drifting off into a rough sleep.
Morning embraced the little mountainside town. It was Saturday. Chara wasted no time approaching his closet, stripping off his red pajamas and replacing it with a striped turtleneck. He pulled on a pair of khaki cargo shorts and stuffed a couple other outfits into his bookbag, after dumping out its previous contents; he wouldn't need his school supplies anymore. His toothbrush, his only stuffed toy, given to him by his friend as a birthday present when he was still in kindergarten. Maybe he should bring some paper and pencils to draw? No, they would get all crumpled in his bag. This seemed good. He ran to his nightstand and grabbed his crayon bank, unplugging the bottom and dumping the change in the bag, as well. He didn't know what he could buy with it, but he figured it was better than nothing.
"Chara?"
The boy pushed his bookbag to the side and silently crept to his bed, slipping in and pretending to sleep.
The door creaked open, "Chara?" his mother repeated softly, then saw her boy, seemingly not yet awake. She smiled sadly, approaching his bed, and kissed his cheek gently.
When Chara heard his mother leave, he sat up and sadly grabbed his bag, suddenly reconsidering.
But he was determined.