Chapter Text
You notice them not long after you exit the shop. It’s a group of people. You think they are a part of some neighbouring school, but you don’t know. Whatever the case is, they look to be around your age. Maybe older?
You pretend you don’t see them, thankful that you always had a preference for headphones rather than earbuds. It makes sense that people would assume you can’t hear shit with music blasting in your ears. But you always had much more sensitive hearing than most would think, even if it only seemed to work outside. You briefly wonder what they are following you for, a sliver of fear filling you. You were a target of many things, especially as hate grew more and more prevalent. Could someone from your grandmere’s church have let something slip to someone intolerant? Could it just be the colour of your skin, your very presence giving something away? Is it the rainbow infinity stitched into your dark black jacket, the sleeve of it covered in the stitch in markings? What could be the reason?
You grip the bag full of sewing supplies close, your nails digging into your skin, no doubt leaving grooves in them. You note how the streets are quiet, and you think on what to do. You can’t confront them, and no way are you trusting an officer in blue to come help you out. Without definite proof, you can’t voice your concerns. Besides, these days you never know how people might react… You sigh, trying to lead yourself down a street that’s busy, hoping the amount of witnesses might make them quit stalking you.
You hated how you felt like prey.
Into a busy street, you walked, sending a text to your grandpa that he should see, maybe he can get his car to come pick you up. The old man was the type of person who looked gruff and threatening, the man having quite a height of six feet on him- even if his poor posture led to people thinking he was slightly shorter. His brown eyes were often obscured by the large hat he wore to block out the sun, making it hard to see his expression at times. The text comes by quick-
Grandpa : I’ll pick you up. Where are you?
You : I’m at xxx xxx street.
Grandpa : Is there anywhere you can duck into?
You : No. It’s all fancy streets. I could try to find a McRonalds.
Grandpa : Just find a place to hide. Text me when it’s safe. I’ll come and find you.
You take a quick glance back. The group consisted of 4 people, who all seem to be part of the same friend group. It was hard to make anything out of them. They wore hoodies that they had up, with the hoods up to block the bright sun. It wasn’t warm, but the sun was sure to be an annoying eyesore. You wore a dark black jacket with a bright blue shirt, with dark jeans. Overall, you wore very little colours, but what ones you did were eye-catching. Your face was uncovered, brown eyes were narrowed in thought as you tried to think of a way out of this. You try to see if there is a busy street you could lose them in, but during this time of day, most folks were at work. The only reason you weren’t at school was because it was a teacher training day, so the entire school was left off. You had just wanted to grab some supplies from the fabrics shop, nothing too big.
You hear the yell of “Hey motherfucker!” coming from one of them, and you don’t think you just run. Soon footsteps are thundering behind you as you dodge pedestrians, running down the streets. You try to keep to the main roads, your eyes peeled for the old pickup truck and the familiar gruff voice of your grandpa, but alas none come. So you run in the only place you can think of you might have a chance to outrun them, a place where you can hide. You run to the outskirts of town, where the woods were. You could remember how your grandpa would take you hunting with him. How he would tell you so many things in the quiet of the early morning starts.
“Remember little one, you got’cha respect mother Earth and all its little critters.” he had warned you. Little you had said “Even the bugs?”
He nodded, a little amused smirk on his face then.
“Yep. Even the little critters. I know you don’t like them, but we all have our spots in life.”
“And ours?”
“Well that’s the funny thing about life. It’s what we make of it.”
“Grandmere always says that we should live our life according to God…But…I…I’m not sure I want to… Church is loud and always so…stifling…” you had quietly admitted, your 7 year old mind not quite understanding the feelings and wanting an explanation.
You remember how quiet he was. He was a devout man, even if he did things in an odd way. Both grandmere and grandpa were. Finally he said “You make your life your own. As long as you don’t hurt the people around you who love you, and people in general, that’s all I can ask for. You…You have always been very different to us…Your mind thinks in a way I sometimes don’t understand. But when we talked to your Pa and your other grandparents, we all agreed that whatever you decide to be, to do is up to you. Even if it means you don’t follow our religion, it doesn't mean nothing. You are who you are. All I can ask of you is to be happy. You got it squirt?”
You ran into the woods, quickly running down the familiar paths, hearing the sounds of dead twigs breaking underfoot. You moved quickly but quietly, your feet knowing how to not get caught under the roots of the trees. You run deeper, dumping your bag of supplies in a bush. The only things you carry with you are the sharp new sewing needles. They weren’t much but you had needed new ones that could handle the heavier fabrics you stitched together. If nothing else, you could hide them up your sleeves if needed. You tried to run into the woods, avoiding clearings as much as you could. Voices ringed around you, and you did everything you could to avoid them.
It felt like they were mocking you. You grit your teeth, trying to circle back to where you dumped your shit at, you hear a shout, and before you know it you throw a shoe at them. You get chased, hands grabbing at you, tree branches and hands blurring together. You throw another shoe, the shoe slipping off easily and you hit true, causing the jerk’s head to bounce back, the hood falling off, revealing brown hair. You run, knowing fighting back won’t do you well. Too many of them.
You are forced to the ground, a tackle causing you to hit your head on the branches. You force them off you, scrambling back into the clearing. You look around. Those hooded fucks surrounded the clearing. You stand up on shaky feet, the grass tickling the soles of your feet. You want to run, hide or do anything.
But you are like a deer in headlights.
It’s starting to get warmer…