The chill of the air was palpable as I trudged through the narrow streets of our town, my steps heavy with dread. Each stone that struck me was a harsh reminder of the town's fear and their readiness to cast out those they deemed different. The words of the elderly woman, sharp as the rocks she threw, were a constant barrage, "Leave this town, you cursed witch's son," she spat with venomous certainty.
Despite my head bowed low, I could feel the weight of every condemning gaze, every whisper of superstition that followed me like a shadow. The town had always been a place of close-knit communities, but today, it felt like a battlefield, and I was the enemy.
As I neared the safety of my home, a rock, larger and more menacing than the others, sailed through the air towards me. Time seemed to stretch, the moment hanging in the balance as I braced for the impact. But then, unexpectedly, a voice shattered the silence. "Hey!" It was a voice filled with youthful indignation and the raw, unfiltered courage of a child.
I turned to see a boy, not much older than myself, with unruly dirty blonde hair that fell into his determined eyes. He stood tall, his stance defying the crowd as he caught the rock in his hand. His palms, unmarred by the harshness of life, were now marked by the blood that seeped from a fresh wound.
His anger was evident as he faced the crowd, "That's not right! He's just a little boy! Why are you throwing rocks at him?" His plea for reason was met with the hysteria of the old woman, who screamed back, "That kid is an accomplice! He's a witch's friend! They'll curse us all and kill us!"
The boy's attempt to bring sense to the senseless was lost in the maelstrom of fear that had taken hold of the townspeople. Undeterred, the woman picked up another rock, this one jagged and threatening, and threw it with all her might.
In that moment, the boy and I were no longer separate entities. We were united by the threat that loomed over us, by the need to protect and to be protected. As the rock flew towards us, I felt a firm tug on my shirt, pulling me back to reality. A set of hands now pulling me away from danger, away from the hatred.
We stood side by side as I saw the hand grab the boy as well. my guard went up as i was getting ready to fight the man that had grabbed us but soon calmed down after realising that these hands are the same ones that had held me when i was a baby crying, before i could check my suspicion to make sure i was right..the arms had yanked us into the house and closed the door, as that happened i heard a yelp. i looked at where it came from and saw it was the dirty blonde that had saved me, his cheek was bleeding due to the rock that was thrown at him, i quickly got up and stood infront of him in a fighting position as i looked up to see who our kidnapper was only to see my mother. "m-mom" was the only thing i could muster up as i ran into her embrace. "shhhh its ok now ash". she said with her honey like voice once more, this sweet bonding moment was soon interrupted. "hey sorry to interrupt but can you help me as well", i let go of my mother losing her warmth as i looked at him seeing him tearing up as he held his blood dried cheek. "oh you little one", she ran to him and hugged him as well with a small smile."thank you for helping my son what is your name", she asked only for him to jump up as if he was never hurting, he pointed at himself with his thumb and he gave us a big toothy grin. "im Alex coser nice to meetcha" he said proudly. which caused me to roll me eyes. "idiot" i whispered in a small grumpy voice. "heyyyy"!!, he ran at me and tackled me. "listen here you weirdo were friends now got it and you cant stop me" the dirty blonde boy named alex said, but as soon as those words left his mouth i quickly shoved him off me watching as my mother laughed at our banter walking over to us again. As my mother tended to Alex's cheek, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie. We had just been through something intense together, and it was as if that shared experience had bonded us in an unexpected way. Despite my initial reluctance, I found myself curious about Alex. Who was this boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and seemed to find joy in even the most chaotic situations?
Later, as we sat around the kitchen table with bandages and antiseptic laid out, my mother's caring hands gently treating Alex's wound, I listened to him chatter away about his love for adventure and his dreams of exploring the world beyond our small town. His stories were wild and often embellished, but they brought a smile to my face. It was then that I realized that maybe, just maybe, I had found a friend in this reckless, dirty blonde boy.
As my eyes met Alex's, I noticed that we were around the same height, with him being only slightly taller. It dawned on me that we were both six years old, and a sense of kinship washed over me. The sound of soft laughter filled the old creaking house, and I turned to see my mom enjoying the lively atmosphere.
"Alex sweetie, where is your mom?" my mom asked, curiosity evident in her voice. The question piqued my interest as well, causing me to look at the kid who had protected me against the old lady. Alex simply smiled and replied, "Oh, she's next door. We just moved here."
Satisfied with his answer, my mom extended her hand for both me and Alex to grab, and we followed her to the back door of our broken-down home. She opened it, saying, "Let's go return you to your mother and father, shall we?" Her smile faded into a frown as she felt Alex's grip tighten, and he looked down.
"My father's dead... My mom's sick, so please don't disturb her. If she knew what happened today, she'd want to move, but she can't handle that," my newly found 'friend' said, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked up into my mom's crystal blue eyes. In response, my mom knelt down, holding the kid's hand to comfort him. As if something clicked in my mother she looked at the boy and gave him a soft smile. "It's gonna be okay. You came to me after hearing all the rumors hoping I was a witch and could heal her, right?" my mom sighed, and the boy's head nodded furiously. Meanwhile, my head slightly dropped, realizing that maybe he had only helped me to get close to my mom because he thought she was a witch who could heal his mother. That's all I could think before my feet began to walk back home on their own.
My mom didn't question it, instead smiling at the boy. "I'm no witch, but I can help your mom, young one... But you gotta promise me something," She gazed into the child's eyes, finding only the purest intent driven by concern for his mother's well-being. With a tender voice, she offered a proposition, "Become my son's friend." The words hung in the air, a simple request laden with hope for companionship. Yet, the boy's head cocked to the side, a visible sign of his puzzlement. Meanwhile, I observed from behind the door, my curiosity piqued, waiting for his response. His words carried a mix of innocence and sincerity, "But I thought we already were friends." His statement, simple and heartfelt, revealed the bond that had already begun to form between us.
After our unexpected meeting, Alex and I quickly became inseparable, our friendship a growing seed nurtured by shared laughter and adventures. Our mothers, too, found a kinship in each other's presence, their connection deepening with every shared story and supportive gesture. It felt like our lives were weaving together, forming a tapestry rich with the colors of friendship and mutual support.
But then came a night that seemed to pause the very rhythm of our lives. It was a night that whispered of change, a night that seemed to crack the very foundation of our world. It was a night shrouded in whispers of fate, where the stars above seemed to hold their breath. It marked the beginning of a shift, the prelude to a series of events that would test the fabric of our bonds. Whether this night would lead us down a path of triumph or tribulation remained a question suspended in time, its answer hidden in the shadows of the unknown.