Please excuse the formatting, as the forum only allows for so much. For an easier read and where I’ll continue to update the story, you can view here
The Coming Home Chapter
1
The wrapping crumpled at the edges and it was obvious to him that something soft was folded inside. He grinned, shaking his head. Turning over a ticket tied to the package, the grin faded a little as eyes fell over a scribbled message, and thoughts gazed into past crumples where grins were less…
…
“Pus! Give that to me,” insisted a fat bully between spittle and clenched teeth; his two oafs protruding behind him, s*ing at the intimidated bent figure sat in the shadows of this alleyway.
Bully shot out a fist into the figure and it splayed its body. With a tremble, the figure spoke a solidary word: “No…” But with a swipe of his paw Bully took what he wanted.
The wrapping crumpled around his grip as Bully ripped into it, ultimately discarding the wrapper aside.
Straightening legs slowly, the figure showed half-way into the day’s sun: a small, crooked boy shielding an arm, stood for a moment before he was shoved back into the shadows.
Bully flung his prize upwards; a colourfully red garment stitched with the white lettering of a name: Gus.
Bully laughed and attempted to rip at it, but the fabric held. Breathlessly he threw the garment to his oafs, who committed to treading it into the ground. The three of them swung around, kicking the garment with them as they left Gus sniffing and weeping in his darkness.
Tears dried after he caught his breath. Gus had wanted to enjoy his birthday gift alone. A gift from his loving parents, placed out for him this morning at the end of his bed, for when he awoke.
He collected the wrapping, folded it, and placed it between the belt of his pants, before raising to see, an arm covered in welts – scars burnt into him at a time too young to recall.
Gus took a few aimless steps, thought of home, and immediately ran angrily anywhere but. A brief, fierce wind blew up from behind him.
…
Grousing loud, a bird flew between the puffy white clouds over his head, disturbing crumples of remembrance. Watching, he followed the bird until the sun defended it, where he shot away to look over fields of vegetables around him whilst an orange-green blear faded from his eyes. The bird sounded again, and memories found there way back to his mind’s gaze…
…TBC
The rest of part 1, and the continuing parts 2 and 3 can be viewed here