[Mirror]

I'm still gatekeeping most of my oneshots lol but I'll share a few

it begins in a garden

contents

         ? denying the antecedent - it’s oddly warm for february

1. regression fallacy - a dream and an unscheduled visit to church
2. slippery slope - noah finds a hurt bunny[break][break]~coming soon~[break][break]
3. cherry picking - adventures in soccer - from the POVs of noah and his team’s captain
4. survivorship bias - noah's most noteworthy lovers
5. tu quoque - a fun chat with dad
6. kafkatrapping - noah attends a funeral
7. courtier’s reply - a brief meeting of characters - misti manning pov

[Mirror]

[nospaces]

?. denying the antecedent
[break]
2005, before the events of the site[break]
word count: 1121 (medium)[break]
cw: sort of self harm?[break][break]

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[attr="class","RachelRpostname"]?

[attr="class","RachelRpostlyric"]Eyes on your neck[break]
I should put you down like a sick dog[break][break]

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SPOILER: Click to show

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The park was crowded, not that she expected anything else with the weather and date as it was. But they'd gotten there early enough to pick out a decent spot, for her to set up chairs and parasols and picnic blankets, coolers filled with snacks and drinks.[break][break]

Indistinct chatter filled the air, with the occasional shriek of playing children or chorus of laughter from one of the nearby groups. She’d done enough socialising for the day. Been seen by the right people and spoken the right things, engaging in the community like a normal person, and she had the same ash smeared across her forehead as everyone else who’d left the church that morning. Everything was fine.[break][break]

Laid back on gingham with her eyes closed beneath her sunglasses, she inhaled a deep breath of spring air and pretended she could feel sand – not blanket and grass – beneath her. With the sun blazing down without disturbance from clouds she could imagine herself in a desert. Could detect her forearms sizzling and find herself eager to feel the peeling skin tug against her sleeves the next day, to later tear off in the evening in long strips. Perhaps she could shed it all at once and be born anew, like a snake.[break][break]

Her companion had asked her a question.[break][break]

“Mm?”[break][break]

“Did you put sunscreen on?” [break][break]

“Yes,” she half-lied. She’d only put it on her face and neck, where burns would be noticeable if she didn't.[break][break]

“The kids, too?”[break][break]

“Mhm.” This time she nodded as well, the confirmation completely honest. What would people think if she let them run around with red blisters across their cheeks? How would the church-goers frown and tut at her when the youngest started to bawl about their hurts during Mass, their screams vibrating in everyone’s ears?[break][break]

There were so many rules for children that sometimes she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. To be glad that her companion cared enough to ask, or plain annoyed that the other mother hadn’t seen to it herself. She often felt like that. Like she didn’t know how she was supposed to feel.[break][break]

“Where's your other one?” her companion asked next, and she needed no clarification on what she was referring to.[break][break]

Her last answer might not have been so honest after all. How annoying. She’d been ready to pat herself on the back for it, and now she couldn’t. Sure, she’d forgotten one, but it wasn’t like he’d let her do it anyway – at least, not without him being all tense and uncertain. She thought he’d be over it by now, boys being boys, but maybe he just disliked everyone that much. [break][break]

She told himself it didn’t matter. It was unlikely anyone had noticed and the others burned a lot more easily; she'd prioritised. Plus, his burns tended to shift into tans pretty quickly and didn't burn again until the next year; he was fine to go without.[break][break]

But her companion had asked her a different question, hadn’t she? Resigned to opening her eyes, she propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze slowly scanning their surroundings until she found him in the treeline, sat with his back against bark. He looked bored out of his mind as he fiddled with a couple of twigs.[break][break]

Some girls walked past and giggled among themselves, one being so bold as to call out a "hi." He paused and looked up towards them – the slight twitch of his brow, the slight tilt of his head making him look remarkably like a lost puppy, confused yet curious, and she dug her nails into her palms and looked away again because it was entirely too familiar.[break][break]

He was getting to that age. He'd been a scrawny, creepy kid who didn’t emote very well unless it was anger, but now he was weirdly getting better at having actual expressions and he was filling out a bit. The sports helped. Were making him lean in a healthy way, sculpting out his face and giving him runners’ legs while many of his peers still retained their youthful chubbiness. [break][break]

It rankled. It rankled a lot.[break][break]

It was much easier when he was all her. Aloof. Opportunistic. Slinking around like an alley cat, hissing and spitting when his territory was encroached on and wanting nothing to do with anyone. She hadn’t shown that side to her for years so she knew it had to be their nature, integral to them, rather than him intentionally trying to copy her. She found it disturbing to think of him as anything else.[break][break]

Still, she could hardly put a stop to what she suspected was to blame for these changes. It was good for him to have a male presence in his life. Someone normal to look up to.[break][break]

("Don't you believe in generational curses?" Father John said to her one Sunday, smile all awry. "Breaking the cycle? That sort of thing?"[break][break]

No.[break][break]

Not at all.)[break][break]

"Over there." She pointed her chin in his direction so her companion could see.[break][break]

Unfortunately he seemed to feel the weight of her returning gaze and shifted to meet it. His eyes brightened. She only noticed because she was his mother, supposedly. It was built into her to notice whether she wanted to or not.[break][break]

She turned her head, pretending she'd only given him a passing glance. Hidden beneath her sunglasses she was able to watch as his features fell into a blankness she was far more accustomed with, and she felt the tension leave her shoulders, like she’d been put in control again. If he thought she would come over because he was being all sulky, he had another thing coming.[break][break]

“He's just upset we didn't go to California at break,” she felt the need to comment. As if he wouldn’t be sitting alone if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “He saw a real estate campaign or soup kitchen ad – I don't know – and now he's got it in his head that that's where he needs to be.”[break][break]

Esther huffed and shook her head. “Weird.”[break][break]

Rachel hummed her agreement and laid back on the picnic blanket again. She imagined he would have been a runaway, had his powers not been limited to working when someone else’s were already at play. As much as he might hate them all, he loved their burdens more.[break][break]

Esther started up her inane chatter again, a one-sided conversation that Rachel easily tuned out. The children were nearby and wouldn’t stir up trouble in public, as they’d been taught, and she’d done all that was expected of her until it was time to leave.[break][break]

And hey, even if that hadn’t been true, her mind excelled at taking her to safe places.

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[Noah St Cloud]

[nospaces]

i. regression fallacy
[break]
1999, before the events of the site[break]
word count: 3530 (long)[break]
cw: references to religion and injury, some implied dark themes[break][break]

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[attr="class","NoahRpostlyric"]Des lapins dans des chats

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SPOILER: Click to show

[break]

He was running, ears filled with the wild pounding of his heart in his ribcage while exhausted breaths escaped in bursts from his body like he’d been charging across the pitch for hours.[break][break]

The world around him blurred, bright blue sky seeming to flood right into the turf beneath his cleats and the black-and-white ball he kicked along. There was no team on the field, neither his own nor an opposing one, and no audience on the sidelines to watch his every move. But Noah felt the urgency in his head. Knew he was aiming for the goal. He hadn’t been playing soccer for long and some of the rules were still confusing (taking the ball from someone like that is a foul, don’t run past this person or you’ll be offside, you have to wear these clothes and these shoes) but he knew his role was to get the ball in the net.[break][break]

His gaze flicked up sporadically from a pattern of single foot cuts, only to see the goal was miles and miles away. He had no choice except to run and run, his lungs burning as he worked harder and harder to reach it. He tried to ignore the uncertainty that came with realising there was no goalie to guard the net. He tried not to think about how scoring felt like an impossible task regardless.[break][break]

Hours later the posts were suddenly right in front of him and he nearly stumbled in his surprise, but he couldn’t stop running, not even to trip; his feet pressed forward even as his brain screamed at him to stop, to slow down. It was like slipping on black ice with nothing he could hold onto to keep himself from falling.[break][break]

He hit the back of the goal. Immediately became entangled in it like a fly in a spiderweb of sixty-ply netting. The net is the spider, not the web, he quickly realised. Wrapping him. Pinning him to the ground. Preparing to drain and eat him whole.[break][break]

Icy panic flared through his body. He thrashed, trying to pull his arms and legs from the trap forcing him down, but each tug and toss and turn seemed only to further wrap the thickening ropes around his wrists and ankles.[break][break]

His wide-eyed stare whipped upwards to the sky where dark, gloomy clouds were rolling across the blue, filling the space above him with a bone-shuddering rumble. He swallowed harshly, breathing erratic, and movement in the edge of his vision wrenched his attention back down to earth.[break][break]

A dark figure was slowly stepping towards him, deliberate and intent. His heart skipped.[break][break]

Just past it he glimpsed Father John, face as blurred as the figure’s yet unmistakably him in his familiar dark vestments and white collar. He stood unhelpfully, right within Noah’s reach, and Noah knew that despite whatever danger he may have been in, Father John was not there to be a rescuer.[break][break]

The shadowy figure reached out to him with blue eyes that burned like ice and looked far more starved than any wild animal’s he’d ever seen. Rabid was a word he’d learned recently. Predatory was a word he’d learned long before that. He tried tugging at his arms again, at his feet, at any netting he could reach, but nothing he did would set him free.[break][break]

The figure grabbed him. A haggard scream ripped from his throat–[break][break]

He jolted upright in his bed, panting and clutching his chest. Pale yellow light blinded him and it took a moment for his rapidly blinking eyes to adjust enough to locate his mother, standing in his bedroom doorway with her hand on the light switch.[break][break]

There was a frostiness to the look she gave him. “Get up.”[break][break]

His stomach sunk. “I didn’t do anything!”[break][break]

“Now, Noah.”[break][break]

Although struggling to recall what he’d done wrong, Noah untangled himself from his twisted sheets, swung out of bed, and hurried over to her side, then struggled to keep up with her much longer legs as she strode along the corridor and down the stairs in the dark.[break][break]

There was a chill in her wake like he was walking behind an open freezer, telling him where to go, and he could feel his own power wake up to replicate it. Rather than plunge the temperature lower though, he used the magic to raise the heat in his body – shielding him from the chill and warming himself just a bit. As much as it tempted him, he didn’t dare to extend the warmth outwards lest his mother notice and scold him.[break][break]

They weren’t supposed to use their curses. The fact that his mother was using hers had to mean she was really unhappy; unable to control it.[break][break]

He tried to ignore the dread in his stomach that such thoughts prompted to deepen.[break][break]

It had to be past midnight. With everything shrouded in shadow he could barely see a thing. But he could see the moonlit outline of his shoes by his mother’s feet when she moved to stand by the front door, and she was wearing shoes as well, so he quickly plopped down on the floor to put on his own before following her outside.[break][break]

It was only when they reached the car that he allowed himself to show some hesitance. They were driving somewhere? What for? Why? Why in the middle of the night? Was she taking him to learn a new sport? Was she…[break][break]

Was she getting rid of him?[break][break]

That was how the stories usually went. Children (often babies) found on a doorstep by the homeowners once they woke up, dropped off in the night. Sometimes the new parents were mean, turning the child into a servant and hurting them, but sometimes they were nice and loving and gave the kid a whole new life. That wouldn’t be so terrible – if he were given to good people. But, what if he wasn’t? [break][break]

What if he were left alone in the cold, snow settling on his shoulders with no magic of his own to chase it away? He didn’t have any matches to warm his hands like that girl in that one story. And even if he did, her matches hadn’t helped her much in the end, had they?[break][break]

More than that, he knew his magic was bad but… he liked it. He liked how it made him feel and what it could let him do. He couldn’t seem to do it unless his family was around (and sometimes even when they were around), so if she got rid of him now, would he ever be able to use it again?[break][break]

“Noah.”[break][break]

He startled and quickly yanked the car door open. Climbed up into the passenger seat. Leaned haphazardly out to reach the handle and close the door behind him before buckling his seatbelt on. Only then did his mother start the engine and pull out of the driveway.[break][break]

They sat in silence as usual and he stole glances at her as they drove, trying to understand what she was thinking. As always it was an impossible task. Her gaze never met his. He never learned. [break][break]

Between the glances he looked ahead at the road, desperately trying to piece together a mental map or at the very least a route home – left turn, right turn, straight ahead past three roads, then left… It would be easier than trying to find his way out of the woods, he assured himself, despite how everything looked different at night and how the usually familiar streets were unrecognisable. If he could learn to differentiate one tree in the mist from a hundred others, he could learn how a particular house or street corner looked in both the day and night.[break][break]

It was only when he glimpsed the old well that he realised they were going to church.[break][break]

He blinked. Shot another glance at his mother. Unsure if he should feel disappointed or relieved. As much as he resented his time in that building, Father John was nice. If Noah was going to be abandoned, he could think of worse people to be left with.[break][break]

Although… it occurred to him then that he probably wasn’t being abandoned after all. Was he meant to confess? Why couldn’t it wait until morning?[break][break]

The car halted sharply, the seatbelt locking uncomfortably across his chest and neck and briefly knocking the air from him as he jolted forward. Usually when he had to confess his mother would tell him to go inside while she stayed in the car, or when he was being bad she’d march him in there herself with her fingers curled tightly in his shirt. This time she flung her door open and strode towards the church without looking back at him at all, leaving him to scramble from the car and chase after her.[break][break]

Once he caught up to her he eyed her hand, swinging by her side as she walked. Breathless and confused as he was, he knew better than to reach for it.[break][break]

She paused by the front doors and he paused next to her, both unmoving as they stared at the dark wood. Noah took that as her silent demand to make himself presentable, slow his breathing, pat his hair down. His mother liked him to look and act a certain way when they were in public. Talk about certain things. Keep quiet about others. There was nothing to be done about his clothes (his star-patterned blue pyjamas were never referred to as ‘church attire’ or ‘Sunday best’) but he hoped she would forgive him for it since she hadn't given him time to change.[break][break]

Finally she shoved one of the doors open and herded him inside the candlelit hall. As always, waiting ahead of them was Father John.[break][break]

Something was immediately and glaringly wrong. The priest halted sharply by the altar, half-hidden in shadow, and when his head whipped towards them he had a wild look in his eyes that was visible even from a distance. The man had always been such a source of peace, so calm and gentle with his words and actions, but at that moment Noah saw him as some big cat in captivity, tail lashing as he stalked back and forth.[break][break]

And before Noah could begin to process this, Father John was marching down the aisle towards them.[break][break]

He looked different – and it wasn’t just his expression or the sudden intensity crackling around him that made it so. The hair that Noah often admired was out of its usual style. Ruffled. Like he’d threaded his fingers through it or tugged at it a lot. The flash of white that made his occupation obvious was absent from his neck. And there was something changed about his face, a yellow tone to the skin beneath his eye…[break][break]

His footsteps echoed. He showed no sign of slowing down as he neared and Noah took an uncertain step back, shrinking under his fixed stare. Father John faltered the moment he did, that strange expression collapsing in an instant into something inexplicably regretful and pained, like he'd stepped on a nail. Nothing was making any sense but Noah knew he liked that look on him even less than the other.[break][break]

Father John took a breath. The church was nearly silent once he'd reduced speed. His features rearranged into a far more familiar softness as he stopped and crouched in front of Noah, putting them at eye level with each other, and he lifted his hand slowly, carefully, as if to cup Noah’s face. In turn Noah was more careful not to react to it the way he had when Father John had approached; he’d slipped up in that moment. Been caught off guard by the unpredictability of it all. Now he simply kept still and stared, like he was supposed to, waiting to see what he would do next.[break][break]

(Father John didn’t make contact with his skin, thankfully; Noah had decided recently that he didn’t like to be touched. No one ever did it nicely – or if they did, it felt weird. Uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t explain).[break][break]

“There. Happy?”[break][break]

It was his mother’s voice that brought back the strange look to Father John’s face, the uncomfortable blaze in his eyes. He stood up again as he turned the glare on her.[break][break]

“Not even close.”[break][break]

There was a weird tension in his voice. A thickness in the air between them that reminded Noah of Hannah and dark clouds forming. It was so unlike him that it took Noah a moment to realise that Father John was angry. At his mother.[break][break]

And she was angry at him, too.[break][break]

“You’re overreacting,” she snapped.[break][break]

“I don’t think there’s any response that could be considered ‘overreacting’ when someone comes to confession and says what he said.” He spoke in almost a hiss, yet his words were more alarming than the unfamiliar tone now. Noah’s mind reeled as he tried to remember his last confession – four days ago. What had he said to make Father John mad? He was sure he hadn’t said anything about the magic. He’d never do that.[break][break]

“It’s not your place to get involved. Much less like that.” His mother stepped closer, hands curled into fists at her sides while she snarled in Father John’s face. “You had no right. You’re supposed to listen and advise – that’s what God intended for you and that’s what you agreed to when you put on your collar.”[break][break]

“How can you expect me to listen t–”[break][break]

“It’s fine. It’s not an issue.”[break][break]

“It is an issue! He should be–”[break][break]

“He would not do anything to tempt God’s wrath–”[break][break]

Father John barked a laugh, one that was empty of any real amusement. “Oh sure! We can trust him to be good because we’re experts in how easy ‘resisting temptation’ is.”[break][break]

His mother’s face smoothed as she lifted her chin and took a step back, and when she spoke again her tone had abruptly cooled, taking on the dispassionate edge that Noah was far more accustomed to. “Save it. We’re going in circles repeating ourselves. You know where I stand on this. No harm, no foul.”[break][break]

“So that’s what it will take? Harm? You’re happy to risk that happening and only afterwards you’ll think about changing your mind?”[break][break]

She turned away, almost appearing bored now. “I’ll be outside. Remember there’s other kids who’ll panic if I’m not around when they wake up, so don’t be long.”[break][break]

“Yeah, you think about your other kids too!” Father John called after her. He looked ready to say more but the heavy church doors slammed shut and he closed his mouth, his jaw clenched as he shook his head.[break][break]

Noah stood very still, unsure what was expected of him now. His mother hadn’t told him to follow. She hadn’t told him to confess, either. She’d also taken her magic with her and as a result, his had disappeared too, leaving him vulnerable to the draughts of the church.[break][break]

Father John’s gaze found him again despite his stillness, apparently unwilling to ignore him in the way everyone else did. An unconvincing smile flit across his face as he crouched back down in front of him.[break][break]

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”[break][break]

Noah shrugged, not knowing what to say. It was weird to see Father John like that – especially towards his mother – but he’d heard worse things spoken and he’d heard thunder rumble much louder.[break][break]

“Why don’t we sit down?” Noah automatically turned towards the confession booth. “No–” Father John’s hand on his shoulder stopped him, freezing him in place. He let go of him quickly and tipped his head towards a pew once Noah's stare met his again. “I meant here.”[break][break]

Another odd suggestion in a night of irregularities. Noah supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by now.[break][break]

He hopped up onto the bench and Father John sat beside him when he had settled, quiet once more. Noah peeked at him, then decided he’d much rather focus his gaze straight ahead at the altar and the huge crucifix looming over it, or at his shoes.[break][break]

“Noah,” Father John began. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Noah could feel him looking at him. Could see his worried face in the corner of his eye. “Anything at all. You don’t… you don’t only have to talk about things that you’ve done. You can talk about other people, and if they ever do anything bad.”[break][break]

That didn’t make sense. Confession was meant for Noah to address his own sinful thoughts and actions, not other people’s. Talking about other people was bad in general. His Grammy and Grandpop often said: gossip was the result of a depraved mind, unbecoming for Christians.[break][break]

Besides, he didn’t really want to think about anything that might fall under Father John’s criteria.[break][break]

He didn’t respond. Father John eventually seemed to accept he wasn't going to answer and sighed as he slumped back in their shared seat, joining him in facing forwards. [break][break]

“I’m here for you,” came a tired murmur. “Just… I’m here.”[break][break]

Noah took another peek at him, noting the yellow colouring of the top of his cheek once more.[break][break]

“Did you crash too?”[break][break]

“…Crash?”[break][break]

He picked at a thread on his sleeve. “My dad’s face has gone purple, but it’ll go yellow and then back to normal after a while. He had an accident.”[break][break]

“Did he now?” Father John had a weird tone to his voice, a lightness that was somehow dark at the same time. Noah didn’t have a word for it. “Funny. I bet his car doesn’t have a scratch.”[break][break]

“You’re not supposed to say it looks funny,” Noah told him, remembering how his Grandma had screeched and raged the previous afternoon. “Or gross. You’ll get told off.”[break][break]

Father John cracked a smile at that and a puff of air escaped his lips. Then his mouth abruptly straightened again as he cleared his throat. He nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Usually you shouldn’t say that people look gross, because it could hurt their feelings.”[break][break]

Noah stared. “But I also shouldn’t lie.”[break][break]

Father John tipped his head sidelong. “Right, lying is bad, yes, but you can omit the truth sometimes.” Noah wasn’t quite sure what that meant. Father John seemed to realise and clarified for him. “You don’t have to say what you’re thinking if it isn’t kind, and you could keep something secret to spare others.”[break][break]

Sort of like how he wasn’t allowed to talk about his family being able to control the weather, Noah thought, because doing so would put them all in danger. They’d be set ablaze or murdered some other gruesome way for having devil’s magic. Or they’d be tested on and imprisoned by doctors. Or struck down by God Himself for presenting themselves as false idols.[break][break]

He yawned.[break][break]

“I’m sorry,” and Father John really did sound guilty, though Noah wasn’t sure why. “I know it’s late.”[break][break]

“S’alright.” It wasn’t Father John who had driven him there in the middle of the night for apparently no reason. “I don’t sleep great anyway.”[break][break]

Beside him Father John stiffened, which in turn made Noah cease all movement. “Why is that?” He didn’t answer. Didn’t so much as look in his direction. “Noah.”[break][break]

There was that tension in his voice again and Noah shrugged once more, keeping his gaze on his hanging feet. Normally he liked being with Father John, but that night it was making him feel all squirmy and uncertain, like he wanted to run away or say something mean enough to make him go, if that was even possible. He didn’t want to talk. Usually the priest would let him have his silences. Why wouldn’t he now?[break][break]

Maybe this was one of those ‘omit the truth’ situations Father John was talking about. A test that he’d failed; if he hadn’t mentioned it, Father John wouldn’t have asked. Wouldn’t feel anything at all about it.[break][break]

His fingers curled into his palms and he worked hard to fight off a frown before it could give him away. He was supposed to be getting better at spotting tests and tricks. His grandparents usually gave the former, his cousins and sister the latter, and practice made perfect. He was supposed to be too smart to fool, because most of his teachers said he was a clever boy.[break][break]

The tiredness had to be the problem, making him slip up. He hadn’t been lying; he really wasn’t sleeping very well. But part of why he wasn’t sleeping made him feel stupid in the light of day. He was a big boy, not a baby. And yet…[break][break]

He kept feeling like there was a monster in his bedroom with him. Something lurking in the shadows. Watching. Breathing close by. Hungry. But at night it was too dark to be certain and he was too scared to get out of bed to turn the light on.[break][break]

He closed his eyes, pushing it from his mind. Problems were to be ignored. Problems didn’t deserve attention.[break][break]

(Noah wasn’t aware of it, but eventually he tipped sideways and fell against Father John’s shoulder, fast asleep).

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[Noah St Cloud]

[nospaces]

ii. slippery slope
[break]
2002, before the events of the site[break]
word count: 912 (short-medium)[break]
cw: animal injury, ABLEISM, implied abuse[break][break]

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[attr="class","NoahRpostlyric"]Head underwater, Stones on my back[break]
I didn't do well but I still tried my best[break]

[break]

SPOILER: Click to show

[break]

The rabbit’s leg was contorted and bloody. [break][break]

It stayed very, very still, nose scarcely twitching, but Noah knew it was alive. The drums of its heartbeat echoed in his head, rapid yet steady like the wings of a hummingbird. [break][break]

He couldn't figure out how or why he could hear it. Everything seemed to be louder all of a sudden, which was a bit scary and painful at first but not so terrible once he'd gotten away from the house. Now he found himself curious, questions consuming him from the inside out, but he knew better than to voice them or mention the change aloud. He could imagine how his family might react to a potential new curse.[break][break]

“It’s been killed,” said Deborah, a girl aged seven. The pair of them were crouched over the animal in a grassy ditch by the roadside. Despite being born in the same year, Noah’s grandmother said girls matured faster than boys, so he ought to listen to what she had to say. Her blue eyes (the same blue as everyone else's in their family) narrowed as she looked at him, the way they always did when she was weighing the consequences of doing something mean. She smiled. “Like you should be.”[break][break]

He focused on the rabbit. “It’s not. It’s only pretending.” Like he used to pretend to fall asleep on the sofa so his mother would carry him to bed. Not that it ever worked. He’d simply heard other kids say they did that with their parents, and he thought he'd give it a go.[break][break]

Deborah grabbed a rock and shoved it out towards him. “Then you gotta kill it. It’s cruel to let it suffer, and if it lives it’ll be a – a cripple. Mom says cripples are better off dead.” [break][break]

A tree provided them shade and a breeze stirred the branches and ruffled his dark hair, but it was still unbearably hot. A bird trilled somewhere above them. The road was empty. He wished Deborah would use her power so he could cool everything down. More than wishing she would use her power, he wished someone would drive by and notice them.[break][break]

Noah accepted the rock without resistance. The rabbit’s nose twitched. Did it know? Did it hear what Deborah said? He gave in to the urge to reach out and touch it. It flinched but it didn’t run, though it probably couldn’t have anyway. The soft, downy fur felt warm under his fingertips and beside him Deborah fidgeted.[break][break]

“Kill it,” she ordered. He lifted her gaze to hers. Her face was ruddy, contorted in a scowl, and her fists were clenched as she glared at him. She was bigger than him, pudgy and big boned. Her punches had weight behind them. But it was just the two of them out there by the roadside, and usually she had her brothers and sister (and his brother and sister) there for backup. “Kill it!” she snapped again. He knew if he were a child without curses he would be intimidated. [break][break]

But he also knew heartbeats, and her drumming song was one of fear.[break][break]

It was strangely liberating, to have that information which otherwise would have remained hidden. He wanted Deborah to feel drowned in that fear, he realised. He wanted her to feel small. Helpless. More vulnerable than the rabbit at their feet. He bet she had no real idea how that felt, whereas he felt it all the time. For once, he wanted someone to shrink from him instead of the other way around. And he wanted Deborah to feel that familiar weight of defeat he'd experienced so many times before.[break][break]

The wind picked up viciously. The heartbeats disappeared and he felt her power ripple through him just as she struck him hard. His cheek stung. She scrambled to her feet.[break][break]

“I’m telling mom you hit me!” she wailed. And then she was gone, sprinting as fast as her little limbs could carry her. He wondered if she would tell their mothers where they had been; the children were not allowed so far from the house at the weekend. Then he wondered if this would be the final straw to convince his family to get rid of him.[break][break]

He cooled the air and turned his attention back to the rabbit.[break][break]

“Kanade,” he dubbed it.[break][break]

A girl in his class had the same name. She was timid too. Quiet. And didn't have any friends. He liked to sit behind her and kick her chair when he was bored, or braid her hair and talk to her softly for the same reason. During recess he sometimes rolled back her sleeves or lifted the bottom of her shirt to look at the purple and yellow marks on her skin. She seemed to be scared of him – but it wasn't his fault. He hadn't bruised her and she was scared of everyone.[break][break]

She'd smiled at him once. It might have been an accident. He sometimes daydreamed about rescuing her from various imagined enemies because if he were to do that – if he were to save her, fix her – he thought she might smile at him again.[break][break]

But girls were gross, so he'd never admit to it.[break][break]

He scooped up the rabbit, clutched it to his chest, and began the walk into town.[break][break]

Later, his parents were furious when presented with the veterinary bills. [break][break]

Noah was not permitted to keep Kanade no matter how much he snarled and screamed.

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