Work Text:
His hands were numb, as were his arms, and he dragged them behind him as he walked.
He looked like a freak among freaks – a fish in a fishbowl full of leeches. Some other metaphor that symbolised how out-of-place he felt, that he couldn’t be bothered thinking of in that moment.
Another boy just as different as him walked in the same rhythmic march, only ten feet ahead.
The towering man behind him snorted in a breath, prodding at his too-long arms with thick fingers –
“You’re bleeding everywhere. It’s fucking annoying.”
He didn’t move his arms. He’d let the stranger prod and insult. He was past the point of caring.
His eyes stayed glued to the ground, until he felt someone’s stare – and looked up, and there was a pretty lady, hair up in a bun, smiling at him. She nodded. He slowly nodded back. The man behind him, still prodding at his arms, shoved him forward a little faster, barking out an insult.
“Stop fucking with him,” someone behind the man yelled, “he’s just a kid.”
The man snorted, and kept prodding. “No kid has four elbows. He’s not one of us.”
The doorway at the end of the line was getting closer, and he barely caught a glimpse of the different-boy being dragged forcefully to the side before it was his turn – and there was a hand on his waist, pulling him to the side, and something covered his eyes and he’d never felt so alone.
The different-boy had a name he couldn’t spell, or read, or write – something long and pretty, probably, written in that chicken-scratch on his nametag. His own name, Roger, was written much clearer, in thick, dribbling marker that stained his white tag grey.
They were stood in the Maw’s cafeteria, and he was staring straight forwards, at a table of people his age eating – too young to work and too old to die – and the different-boy stood to his right, fidgeting with his hands behind his back.
He started to shake as he felt the Lady behind him, before her hand was on his back and she was petting him like a dog, rubbing in circles and changing the rhythm every few seconds, and she hummed and smiled and muttered something soft.
“Calm down, boy.”
He wasn’t shaking anymore – he couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe. He only stared forwards, at the table of abandoned youths.
His breath left wet marks on the inside of his grotesque mask, and the twins hobbled past, cackling and eyeing him up cruelly.
“You’ve such pretty eyes, boy.”
Her voice was calming, but he felt like he should be afraid. She guided his face by the jaw to look at her – his bright blue eyes almost glowed in the dim light, big and blinking in fear. She smiled again, and stroked his jaw gently.
“I do wish I had eyes like yours.”
Hesitantly, he leaned back, sliding his face from her hold – and her smile fell, as he looked down, eyes closed.
“Sorry, my Lady.”
She smiled again, but it was fake – her eyes didn’t light up like before. “Don’t be sorry for being pretty, Roger,” her smile widened venomously, “only be sorry when you’re ugly.”
He gulped harshly, licking his crooked teeth as she calmly walked away.