Elric Greene, D9 {FIN}

Little Boy Lost.

A small shape flits from building to building, graceful and silent, until it trips and falls to it's knees. It cries out softly, looking around the street. He -for it is a boy- looks terrified in the light from the streetlamp, one hand on his leg, stained crimson with blood. He is so young, can't be more than twelve. His expression is not an uncommon one on district nine's children, but he looks so well cared for, that anyone would be curious. He slumps, stopping his frantic search, and tears roll down his cheeks.

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A Chipping Mask And A Broken Smile.

A pale face in a mirror. Pearly teeth worrying at a pink lip, half of a long cupid's bow. The round nose above them crinkling, accompanied by a sniffling sound. The thick-framed glasses perched on it are hastily pulled off and placed on the rim of the sink as large tears drip from the round, prominent silvery grey eyes that they were hiding. Those eyes scrinch shut as the boy who owns the face steps back and sinks to the floor, helplessly hiding that heart-shaped face in his hands. His shaggy dark hair hides the face further as he buries it -and his hands- in the space between his kneecaps, which have been drawn up as though he is trying to protect himself from some danger. But the silent sobs can still be seen.

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Too Small For This Armor.

The screams still echo in his head, and he whimpers, shuddering again, sending pain pulsing from the sharp, thin cuts decorating his pale back. His arms are wrapped around his legs, -such thin, frail appendages- binding his knees to his skeletal chest. He can feel every rib pressing into his flesh, and realizes dimly that he needs to eat more if he wants to keep up appearances. His curled position makes him look smaller than his four feet and nine inches, but it doesn't really matter much. He hears the door creak open, and the sigh and the gentle, familiar hand on his shoulder that soon follow are the only things that truly matter at this moment.

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Musn't Judge A Book By It's Cover.

A tie is ripped away, tossed into a corner as it's owner's harsh breathing grows faster. Next comes a dark blue jacket, but still the breathing is fast and sharp and panicked. A low thud as a relatively light shape crashes onto the wooden bed in the room. Sweaty palms are scrubbed on light jeans, and they tremble violently. A large green T-shirt attempts to swallow the thin figure. Bulky brown combat boots hit the floor, the loud thunk! briefly drowning out the breathing, but still the panic persists.

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A Tenous Hold On Composure.

A cold smile is on the boy's face, and if you don't know him, he looks smug, as he usually does. The smirk is self-satisfied, though it falters slightly. This fits, the boy being ever the confident, cool, brilliant one. His eyes are cold, carefully shielded. But if you know him, you'll see his hands tremble.

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Sanity Is A Place I've Never Visited.

A Sharp Crack! and a cry of pain. He tries so hard. His attempts to please, his work, it's all for nothing. At the end of the day, something will always be essentially wrong with him. He should know that by now, smart as he is. So smart, but too naive. Something is always wrong. He is always wrong. Tears drip from eyes already flooded with sadness and fear, and another crack! resounds.

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Love Never Prevails In This House.

The small brown cat jumps onto the sobbing boy's bed. He attempts to pull himself together as he strokes it's head absent-mindedly. Anyone looking in on this scene other than his brother would question just who this boy was. His cold mask had fallen, and his face shone with happiness and a persistent love of animals. His slim hands were uncharacteristically gentle. He hums softly, smiling faintly.

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The Beginning Of It All.

A shriek splits the air, and a baby can be heard wailing from the other room, which makes the face of the woman on the bed contort into a vicious snarl. She shrieks again, and the doctor can be heard urging her to push. Abruptly, the shrieks stop and a pitiful little mewling sound can be heard. The undersized infant now in the doctor's arms looks around with frightened eyes. The doctor leaves, and the baby is placed in the nursery with his brother, immediately drifting off to a too-restless sleep. His worried parents bite their lips, but leave anyway.

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Much Too Young.

The boy, now three years old, lays on his bed as his brother gibbers on about something he can't focus on. He shivers as a strong gust of wind blows against the bedroom window, which never does shut properly. He starts coughing wetly, and then whimpers. His brother hushes him gently, placing his hand against the much smaller boy's burning forehead. The boy leans into the cool touch, eyes drifting shut even as his brother calls out worriedly to their mother that his fever's spiked again.

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Promise Not To Leave.

A frightened cry pierces the stillness of the house, silver moonlight coming through the window as the smaller of the two brothers sleeping there tosses frantically on his bed, trapped in a nightmare. The older snaps out of his peaceful sleep and creeps over to his seven year old brother, shaking him awake. The eyes, silver as the light, snap open as he latches onto his brother with a sob. The eight year old grimaces and soothes him gently. The younger child whispers something about darkness and being alone, and his brother realizes with a pang that this might be partially his fault for leaving his brother in favor of his new friends. He sighs as those familiar grey eyes finally slip shut.

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And So Were Built The Walls.

The ten year old boy rubs a sore shoulder, which he had had slammed into the floor the previous night. He looked over at his brother, too busy with his friends to comfort him, and then sighs. Slowly, a dark haired boy, only a little older than him, comes over, glaring furiously at the group of friends. He nods at the younger boy before leading him over to where a nice blonde girl also glared at the group. The boy smiles slightly, now he had his own friends.

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Lost One Found.

The crying boy still sits in the street, holding his bleeding leg. He gasps softly every time pain shoots through it, but he hasn't tried to get up or have it tended too. As another gasp escapes him, a slightly larger figure comes out of an alleyway. This one starts to say something about it being too bloody wet out to have to search the district for his annoying brother, but then stops when he sees the tears and the blood. He sighs softly before sitting next to the other boy, rubbing his back and murmuring comforting nonsense in his ear. By the time he tries to get the boy to his feet, the tears have stopped.

...

Odair

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