“There's the witch boy,” a child called out.
“Who's that?” asked a younger boy.
“He's the one who is always by himself. His mom was a witch from the east.”
“Him?” The younger boy pointed at me. “Is he evil?”
“Well yeah, stupid. That kid's mom was evil. That makes him evil too.” The older kid bent over to pick up a rock. “Hey, dare you to throw this rock at him.”
The other kid's jaw dropped. “But my mom says not to throw stuff at people.”
“It's okay; he's not a person. Just watch.” The rock struck me in the face. Blood gushed out. I felt a searing pain. Wiping my head, the pain lessened. “See, his wound healed right away. That makes him a witch. Let's get him before he uses his magic on us.” The kids tossed rocks at me, and I ran. They chased me until their little game got boring.
A cold breeze floated past, carrying the sweet smell from the flower fields. The vibrant flowers left my sight as I entered a dank, dark alley. The sun set beyond the horizon, leaving me alone. I huddled in the warm trash until sleep came to me.
“Hey,” The gentle voice woke me.
Who is it? “Mom?”
“Are you okay?” A girl with brown hair and blue eyes was squatting in front of me. She looked at me with concern; it was a look I didn't get often.
“That's a cool bruise you got there,” I placed my hand on my forehead; I guess those kids hit me harder than I thought. “Did your old man hit you or something?” A teen boy stepped out into the moonlight. His pale skin shimmered in the light. His hair was as white as snow, and his eyes as red as a rose. He glanced back and forth, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and his eyebrows furrowed in anger.
“Y-you sure you want to be talking to me?” I asked.
“Well, I don't see why not,” the girl stood up and firmly placed her hands on her hips. Her long hair blew gently with the wind, swaying back and forth.
“Marcia,” the boy said, irritated, “let's go; I don't want to stay here any longer.”
“So,” Marcia ignored the boy, “where is your mom?” The boy glared at me. I cringed and turned away.
“I don't have parents,” A gentle hand patted my head, and the two teens looked at me with soft, sad smiles.
“Well then,” Marcia stated, “you're just like us.” She dusted herself off and turned to the boy. “Hey Jonah, let's take him with us.”
“Okay, but only because-” the teen scratched his head, “I know- what it's like.” Jonah knelt in front of me. His smile stretched from one ear to another, “also, because I've always wanted a little brother!”