Here's a fully edited (and waaay expanded) version of Pain of the Past. I've shifted things to get closer to the feeling that the story was supposed to have when I thought of it. It's now much closer to what I intended it to be. Turns out I just needed to increase my writing skills to tell this story properly. Please enjoy.
It was a nice late spring afternoon in New York City when Mr. Grasshopper headed out of the concert hall to pick up James after school. His steps were slow as he strolled down the sidewalk, ignoring the surprised looks that he and the other bugs sometimes got from the citizens. Most New Yorkers were no longer surprised to see a giant, anthropomorphic bug making their way down the streets, but there were always a few curious gazes. However, nobody stopped him to have a word, so Mr. Grasshopper was left to his thoughts. Unfortunately, they were not very pleasant on this particular day.
Mr. Grasshopper wove through the crowded sidewalks, his mind lingering on vivid images that had played through his mind the night before. He despised his nightmares, yet it was a unique experience given to him by the crocodile tongues. He had never dreamed in the time before the peach and James, yet even now he sometimes wished to go back to those simpler times. Then he remembered that he was still alive, after two full years in New York.
His lifespan was now so much longer that it seemed a fantasy to him. What insect had ever imagined seeing the winter, living through snow and frost, and all of the other wonderful things he'd experienced in the time since he'd eaten the crocodile tongue? And, he thought idly, he wouldn't have had much life left to live if he hadn't been engulfed in a dazzling adventure and found a family of sorts with the other bugs. His clock had been rapidly winding down by the time he'd gotten to the hill all because that was the way nature was.
Mr. Grasshopper reached up to cradle his side, an unconscious habit that nobody had ever put much stock in. They never noticed that it was only his right side, that he cringed when he did it, that he turned away protectively. Mr. Grasshopper put the action down to bad memories and the vicious attack that had almost killed him, would have save for a squirming, green thing, so full of magic that it could rescue a dying insect and give it a life far more extraordinary than it deserved.
As his thoughts strayed toward the nightmarish images again, Mr. Grasshopper forced the thoughts away. He didn't need to remember. It was a lifetime ago. Many lifetimes ago, in fact. He needed to forget it, but the scars ran deep, and his mind tried to pull him in that direction far too often. He'd thought about sharing it with the other bugs, knowing that they would understand in a way most humans just couldn't, but then he would have to admit what he was. He couldn't bear that shame, so he said nothing and went along with his new life.
The schoolyard came into view, and Mr. Grasshopper stopped at the gate and scanned the grassy playground for James. Usually the boy would wait at the gate for his guardians, but there was no sign of him. Mr. Grasshopper figured that James was inside, so he leaned against the gate to wait. As he scanned the yard again, his attention was drawn to a group of boys gathered around something. The grasshopper cleaned his antennae nervously, unsettled by the rough laughter of the boys. It reminded him of predators toying with prey, and he was not fond of predators.
A body crashed to the ground, falling out of the circle. Mr. Grasshopper stopped breathing and went very still as he recognized the person on the ground. He watched in dismay as James snagged his bag and scrambled on his hands and knees away from the group of jeering boys. He jerked to his feet and staggered away. One of the larger boys stepped forward, gave a loud call and threw a glass soda bottle at him.
"Go back to England, Limey!"
James slung his bag up on his shoulders as he made his way toward the gate. When he was several feet away, he looked up to see Mr. Grasshopper and froze. It was then the insect saw that the boy's bottom lip was bleeding. James turned red, and he reached up his dark jacket to swipe at the blood on his chin.
"Mr. Grasshopper," he said, his voice falsely bright. "We were just… playing football. I fell down."
Mr. Grasshopper pressed his lips together and gazed intently at James, whose smile faded as the seconds ticked by. James finally lowered his head, wiping at the blood again.
"I wish you wouldn't lie to me, James," Mr. Grasshopper finally said.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"If you don't want me to talk about it, I won't mention it."
"Not even at home?" James asked quietly.
"Not even at home," Mr. Grasshopper promised. "But tell me. Were you just playing?"
James hesitated then shook his head slowly.
"I see. Well, we best get back home. Miss Spider will be making dinner tonight."
James looked up, startled by the reaction, so Mr. Grasshopper gave him a crooked grin and wrapped his lower right arm around the boy's shoulder. They strolled back down the sidewalk toward the park, and the insect struck up an easier conversation.
"So, how was the rest of school?" he asked.
James looked up and wiped at his chin again, his expression turning back to his usual bright smile. "I got top marks on a writing assignment."
"That's excellent, James," Mr. Grasshopper praised, smiling as the boy glowed with pleasure. He seemed to crave affection and praise after his time with his aunts, and his family was happy to give him what he needed.
"I wasn't so sure about it, but the teacher liked it," James said.
"Why don't you read it out loud tonight after dinner? I'm sure we'll enjoy it. You have such a unique perspective."
James nodded eagerly. "I'd be happy to read it, Mr. Grasshopper."
A sweet smell made Mr. Grasshopper's antennae twitch, and he paused. "How about a peach? There's a fruit stand over there."
James beamed. "That sounds perfect."
Mr. Grasshopper strolled over and pulled out some coins, allowing James to take his pick. The boy picked up two beautifully ripe peaches and Mr. Grasshopper handed the vendor the money. James handed one peach to his guardian, and they toasted each other then bit down into the juicy fruit. Peaches were still their favorite fruit even several years later, though none were quite as good as the magical giant peach they'd ridden to America on.
By the time the peaches were gone, they were walking up to the front door of their house. James paused before reaching for the door and raised his head to say something. But Mr. Grasshopper saw him lose courage, and the boy swallowed.
"Thank you for the peach," he said softly.
Before Mr. Grasshopper could say anything, James walked into the house and greeted Miss Spider. Mr. Grasshopper stood very still for a moment, saddened by James's reluctance to open up even as he understood the caution. Then he stepped inside and closed the door. The smell of baking chicken filled the house, and Mr. Grasshopper smiled at the thought of eating chicken again. All the bugs took great pleasure in eating chicken, since the birds were a menace toward all of their kinds.
Miss Spider was in the kitchen, stirring rice. "How was your day?" she called over her shoulder. A flash of unease passed over James's face as he looked at Mr. Grasshopper. The insect met his eyes then strode into the kitchen.
"It was fine," he said, and he sensed James relax and stare at him. "I had a bit of a trying time with a particularly difficult piece, but I've definitely got it now."
"This is good," Miss Spider said cheerfully. "And you, James?"
"I had a good day," he said slowly, staring intently at Mr. Grasshopper. "But there was an accident on the football field."
Miss Spider turned at once and her eyes went straight for James's swollen, cut lip. "What happened?" she asked, skittering over and taking his face in her hands.
"I fell while we were playing."
"You fell?" Mrs. Ladybug asked as she came into the house. She set aside her briefcase and scurried over. "Are you hurt?"
James turned and she caught his face and studied his lip.
"It's hurts a bit," James admitted.
"You'll be okay," Mrs. Ladybug said decisively. "We'll get you a cold compress to bring down the swelling."
Mrs. Ladybug quickly put some ice in a towel and handed it to James with the instructions to keep it on his lip. He obeyed then headed for his room to change out of his school clothes. Mrs. Ladybug gathered the plates as Mr. Grasshopper pulled out the glasses and silverware.
"And how was your day, Mrs. Ladybug?" Miss Spider asked.
"One poor dearie had quite the hard time," Mrs. Ladybug said, setting the plates on the placemats. "She was in labor all day. I was afraid she wouldn't be up to it. But thank goodness she was. Turns out she had twins! Two rosy little girls, all plump and healthy. When I left, she was resting with the babies, just glowing with happiness. Her husband looked ready to burst with pride."
Miss Spider placed the hot cobs of sweet corn on a plate then turned to smile at Mrs. Ladybug. "They will be a happy family. This is very good."
"How was your day?" Mr. Grasshopper asked, pouring glasses of water.
"It was busy," Miss Spider said. "I am trying to expand the menu, and I was speaking to people trying to find new options."
"Expanding the menu will be a good thing," James said, coming in with the towel held to his face. "Fish and chips would be great to add. I haven't had any that are like Mum and Dad used to make me."
Delight sparked in Miss Spider's face, and the bugs knew that fish and chips would soon be on the menu. "I will consider this," she said. "Now wash up for dinner, James."
James nodded then turned as the door opened and Mr. Earthworm slithered in.
"Thanks, Samantha. I'll see you next week," he said then shut the door and shook his head. He sniffed.
"Chicken?" he asked hopefully.
"Hello, Mr. Earthworm," James said. "How are you?"
"Hello, James," Mr. Earthworm said fondly. He headed for the boy and curled around him once, squeezing. James held the smooth, pink worm around the neck as Mr. Earthworm sniffed him. "I smell blood," he said, frowning.
"I fell while playing football," James said, glancing at Mr. Grasshopper. The insect cleaned his antennae and tilted his head curiously, but he didn't correct James.
"Are you okay?"
"Cut lip. It's a bit swollen, too. But I'm okay. I promise."
Mr. Earthworm squeezed him again and nuzzled him. "Good. As long as you're okay."
James smiled and squeezed his neck one more time then Mr. Earthworm coiled at the end of the table. "Is dinner ready?"
"Nearly," Miss Spider said. "We are waiting on the chicken to finish. About five minutes more, I think."
"How was your day, dearie?" Mrs. Ladybug asked.
"Lots of paperwork today," Mr. Earthworm said. "New acquisitions. And I've got to go downtown three days next week for a photo shoot."
"I can take you and bring you back," Mr. Grasshopper suggested. "That way you don't have to take a car."
Mr. Earthworm looked happy at that. "If you wouldn't mind. I'd much rather travel on foot."
James came back in and tittered. "In a manner of speaking?" he asked innocently.
Mr. Earthworm snorted. "Very funny," he said fondly, flicking the boy with his tail.
The timer went off and Miss Spider pulled out the chicken and tested it. "It is done."
"And I hear Mr. Centipede coming up the walk," Mr. Earthworm said.
Mr. Grasshopper and Mr. Centipede opened the door as the Glowworm came into the dining room/kitchen, her eyes looking around.
"Good morning," she said brightly as her tail flashed.
"Good evening," they all replied.
The Glowworm sat herself at the table as the door opened and closed.
"Evening all!" Mr. Centipede crowed. He grabbed James in a many-armed hug then looked at him. "What happened to your face, Jimmy? Ya weren't in a fight?"
James turned faintly pink but smiled. "No. I fell when we were playing football."
Mr. Centipede smiled and tapped his nose with a claw. "That's good. Wouldn't wanna have ta take care of somebody."
James laughed, but he ducked over to the table, trying not to look at Mr. Centipede.
"Which kinda football was it?" Mr. Centipede asked, sitting beside the boy.
James glanced over as Mrs. Ladybug filled his plate. "Soccer. I keep forgetting to call it soccer."
"Ah. Did your team win?"
"Yeah. We did," James said, his face coloring again.
"How was your day?" Mr. Grasshopper asked the arthropod.
James glanced over but couldn't tell if Mr. Grasshopper had changed the subject for him. He was awfully understanding, and he kept his promise not to tell the family. James didn't understand why.
"Eh, it was fine. Lots of meetings. City planning. Important stuff like that." Mr. Centipede dug into his chicken. "How about your day? Anything important?"
Mr. Grasshopper shifted and looked irritably down at his plate. "I ironed out a few errant notes."
"Mm."
Mr. Centipede sounded dismissive, and Mr. Grasshopper tightened his fingers on his silverware.
"And what does that mean?" he asked coldly.
"I didn't say nothing," Mr. Centipede said defensively.
"You said plenty," Mr. Grasshopper muttered.
Mr. Centipede narrowed his bright blue eyes. "What does that mean?" He demanded, and bit down on the bone of the chicken.
A shiver went up Mr. Grasshopper's back at the terrible crunch. He stood up abruptly, threw his napkin on the table, and turned away.
"Hey! Where are ya going?"
"To do something quite unimportant, as you've made clear that's all I do."
"I didn't say that!" Mr. Centipede exclaimed.
"Forget it," Mr. Grasshopper said, storming to his room.
As he shut the door, he leaned back against it and took a deep breath. He hated when Mr. Centipede disparaged his career choice. Music was a core part of his life, a singing of his soul to the outside world, ever-shifting with his moods and circumstances. Now that he had the chance to express that music in a form not usually accessible to his kind, it was a dream, a fantasy come true, and Mr. Centipede constantly seemed to be throwing ice water in his face. It wasn't even a matter of money. Mr. Grasshopper made plenty in his career, and he contributed an equal share of his finances toward the family bills. So why was he the only one to get shamed by Mr. Centipede?
Frustrated, Mr Grasshopper strode to one of his little plants and plucked off a leaf. He didn't mind chicken, but he was a vegetarian at heart, and he needed some vegetation to clear up the taste of meat. He chewed on the leaf, brooding over Mr. Centipede and all the slights, which were numerous. Then his thoughts began to stray to another time, another place, another way of seeing the world, and another bug that was just as smug as Mr. Centipede.
'No!' he thought ruthlessly.
He didn't want any more nightmares. So he turned his thoughts to James and what he'd seen. It was obvious the boy was being bullied. It was equally obvious that he didn't want to tell anybody about it. Mr. Grasshopper considered the situation for a while then resolved himself to speak to James about it. In private, of course, but James needed to know that Mr. Grasshopper understood and was there for him. What they would do, he wasn't sure, but facing it together would be better than alone, surely.
A soft knock on the door brought his attention back to the present and he looked up.
"Mr. Grasshopper? I'm going to read my paper. Do you want to hear it?" James asked from the other side of the door.
"I'll be right out," Mr. Grasshopper said.
Mr. Grasshopper stood and stretched, wishing that he didn't have to face Mr. Centipede. Almost automatically, his lower hands rubbed over his abdomen, and in one spot, something was different. The crunch of bone from earlier came to mind, and the grasshopper shivered and fought a wave of terror as a vivid memory came into his head. He swayed and took a deep breath before he strode to the door. He would listen to James read his paper, enjoy his waking hours because he knew that the nightmares would be back that night. And there was nothing he could do about it.
