“It’s the witch boy,” a tall child said.

“Who’s that?” asked a small boy.

“He’s the one who is always by himself. His mom was a witch from the East.”

“Him?” The small boy pointed at the witch boy. “Is he evil?”

“Well, yeah, stupid. His mom was evil, so that makes him evil, too.” The tall kid crouched down, grabbing a rock, then rose to his feet and leaned towards the other boy. “Hey, dare you to throw this rock at him.”

“But my mom says not to throw stuff at people.”

“It’s okay. My mom says he’s not a person. Plus, the adults do it all the time.”

The tall boy pulled his arm back before flinging the rock at the witch boy, drawing warm, sticky blood from beneath his unkempt black hair. He pressed his hand to the wound, and a fiery heat burned in his stomach, causing the wound to stop bleeding just as quickly as it had started.

“See, his wound is healing too fast, and his eyes turned red. That makes him a witch. Let’s get him before he uses his magic on us.” The kids tossed rocks as the witch boy fled towards the blacksmith, who chased the other two children away.

A cold breeze ran up the witch boy’s spine, carrying a sweet smell from the flower fields. The vibrant flowers swayed with the breeze. The witch boy longed for the days when he’d lived with his mother, away from the other villagers. The vibrant plants faded from his view as the boy trudged down the streets until he came to a dank, dark alley.

Noticing a window at eye-level, the witch boy stopped to observe his reflection. His small hand raised to his eyes, which were as black as could be. A heat rose in his stomach as he accidentally touched the purple and blue bump on his scalp. His eyes glowed bright red, and his pupils turned to slits.

As daylight fell, the witch boy’s reflection faded, revealing in its place a family huddled around a fire. The mom and dad wrapped their children in warm blankets, and they all cuddled while watching some moving pictures. The witch boy huddled in  the warm trash heap across from the family, watching the images until sleep overtook him.

“Hey,” a gentle voice woke the boy. 

Who is it? “Mom?”

“Are you okay?” A girl with long brown hair and blue eyes knelt by the trash. She smelled like the sun.

“That’s a cool bruise you got there. Did your old man hit you or something?” A teen boy stepped into the moonlight. His pale skin and snow-white hair radiated brightly, making the witch boy think he was seeing an angel. That is, until the he noticed the other boy’s red-tinted eyes.

The teen glanced up and down the alley as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyebrows furrowed as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Y-you sure you want to be talking to me?” The witch boy questioned the two teenagers.

“Well, I don’t see why not.” The girl shrugged, then firmly placed her hands on her hips, smiling gently.

“Marcia—” The boy pulled her into the shadows. A drunkard walked past the alley, stumbling his way towards his house. “Let’s go.”

“So,” Marcia said, ignoring the pale boy, “where is your mom?”

The witch boy flinched. “I don’t have parents.”

The pale boy’s eyes softened, and his grimace turned into a frown.

Marcia patted the witch boy on the head and smiled at him. “Well then,” Marcia spoke, “you’re just like us!” Marcia turned to the pale boy. “Hey Jonah, let’s take him with us.”

“Okay, but only because—“ Jonah knelt in front of the witch boy. His smile stretched from one ear to the other. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.”