Author's Note: More drabbly goodiness, as angsty as a few others but still good, I guess xDDD Enjoy!^^
Disclaimer: Copyright goes to Frictional Games.
VIII
Nothing
He hurts. He hurts all over.
Unlike his former friend Henry Bedloe, Daniel chose to cry every time he was beaten. But he cried silently, letting his tears flow freely without making a sound. And he would always sit under his desk, hug his knees to his chest and stay there, crying, cursing his luck. No boy or girl at school except Henry has my problems, he complains to himself.
Why does he have to have them?
Daniel punches his desk over and over until his knuckles are sore and bleeding. Those wounds are nothing compared to those his father has given him: they are wounds he can stand, wounds he can heal. But why do they hurt all the same? He doesn't understand, and he cries harder. Every boy and girl at school except Henry meets their parents after class, he thinks, wiping his cheeks dry.
Why doesn't he?
But it's always the same: except Henry.
Henry Bedloe has the same problems as me, he reasons, tasting blood on his tongue. But he gets angry and doesn't cry. And… and I don't want to hurt others. Mom always said that was bad.
Yet nobody, he realises, nobody has hurt Henry Bedloe anymore. Only those who are stupid enough dare to make him angry. He intimidates, and Daniel doesn't.
I've never been special, and I'll never be. But I don't want to be hurt anymore. I don't want to be beaten or insulted or cast away.
Hs misery overwhelms him, and he cries more loudly this time. Tears flow like rivers do, like the blood from his wounds. He doesn't have what others have.
Daniel doesn't have anything.
17th of August, 1839
Many years have passed since that day.
And I still have nothing.
A/N: So, what would you like to see next? Though I have a few ideas in store, I want to hear what you want me to write for a few chappies, or some other time here and there.
Reviews are appreciated!^^