“All I did was scratch someone. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know I could - that I had these… They were pushing me around and I got angry. But it was an accident, alright?! I didn’t know I could – change . But they didn’t care, so I ran into the woods to hide. They told Mr. Carshtin they would help him look for me, but they only wanted to lure him away from the town to beat him up. They told everyone I was the one that attacked him, and no one came to tend to his wounds because they all thought I had cursed him too. Chief Slatrim and Priest Santr! They killed him! They hated our teacher because he wasn’t as stupid as them, and people started to want to listen to him more than them.”

Luric was breathing hard now. He had poured every ounce of his anguish filled heart into his outburst, and the ferocity of his cry had rendered his abused throat raw with pain. He felt liquid build up in the back of it and wondered if he had somehow managed to rip something inside that was now bleeding. But he wasn’t done. He wanted to continue yelling at them, to have them cower before his fury. To make sure they would have nightmares about him for the rest of their lives.

That’s right, I need to place a curse on them!

He had no idea of how it worked, but he was pretty sure that they didn’t either. If he told them that he had placed a curse on them, they’d believe him, and he’d leave this world knowing that they’d fret and agonize over what great misfortune would befall on them because of him. And it would, regardless of whether he had these powers or not. It was only a matter of time until something terrible would happen, because life around these parts was harsh and bleak. Some sort of disease, a landslide, a long and devastating winter that would take many lives; he had lived through trying times himself in his twelve years and he had seen how people reacted. They would think it was Luric’s vengeance damning them. They would think they had make a mistake in killing him, that they should have left him alone instead, and they would blame Slatrim and Santr for bringing this upon them. That thought alone gave him some comfort.

He fixed them with the most hate-filled glare he could muster, and though it hurt to talk he drew in a deep breath and pushed the words forward.

“I hope you all will get to feel the same pain that you’ve caused me. No, I want you to experience it tenfold. To have everything taken from you, to be beaten down and spit on, and have no one to come help you. You idiotic, heartless bastards.” They were writhing and whimpering -  he could even hear someone sobbing - and a desperate plea for someone to stop him from continuing. It only spurred him on. “May the rest of your pathetic, miserable lives to be filled with only agony and rotten luck. Oh yeah, and death too.” He finished with a bitter grin. “It’s only fair.”

He hadn’t felt so exhilarated in forever, the satisfying thrill washing over him and leaving his skin tingling. He didn’t want it to be over. He deserved more of this. It wasn’t just about what they’d done to him these past few days, they had treated him like crap all his life.

Orphans were outcasts, touched by misfortune from birth, and no one really wanted them around. Especially the unfriendly, pale little boy that fell ill so often. Years of pent up frustration couldn’t be compiled into a few spiteful words; he had opened the floodgates, and the discharge felt amazing. What else should he say? What was the worst thing he could tell them? Oh, yeah!

“May Shulffa’s eyes be forever on you, her talons picking at your threads, your tears her nourishme- ”

Something hit him in the head, hard and loud, and he tumbled backwards landing on his behind. Bright pain flared sharply at the side of his temple where the object had struck, making his eyes tear up behind tightly shut lids. Had Mr. Visloc punched him to make him shut up? When he opened his eyes he saw the tall man look down at him in surprise and the whip his head in the direction of the townspeople. Next to his feet was a small rock, just barely larger than a pebble, round and dull, but it had been thrown with such a force that he thought it might have left a dent in his scalp. He sat there, a hand on his throbbing head, looking at the rock, stunned.

And just like that, all his momentum fizzled out and disappeared, leaving behind a state of utter bewilderment. He could already feel it slowly being replaced back with the dread of his impending doom that he had come to know so well these past few days, and it brought with it tears of shock and crippling fear. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, not yet…. He couldn’t afford to look pathetic now, lest it take away from the impact he hoped his words had had on them. 

It was out of sheer curiosity that he looked to see who had thrown the rock. A boy around his age had emerged from the huddle and was glaring at him.