guiding hand // avriel

a v r i e l .

"We forgot to talk about Heaven
And leaving
And what it would mean
And how I would grieve"

He remembers the first punch he ever threw.

The way he'd curled each finger into his palm and let his thumb hang loose beside them. He'd tossed it like that, fist thrown clumsily at nothing in particular. His knuckles were raw from it, bloody and split from one punch because the brick hadn't agreed with them, but Avriel had barely felt the pain in that moment.

He did later, a crooked tugging at his corners, he slept with his hand cradled to his chest that night.

Since then, Avriel's learned a few things. He's not half as helpless as he used to be, in the past year he's gained a foot in height and isn't the kid that everyone remembers him as. That could just be the weight on his shoulders though, poor Baptiste having to take care of his younger siblings when their parents disappeared.

Except 'disappeared' is a lie, it's a fable. Dissapeared insinuates that they're coming back, they're not. They can't, they're dead, blood on the pillows, blood on the blankets, blood on the floorboards and he spent all afternoon scrubbing–couldn't let Bills and Duke see–Whack.

Again. He's been watching that Ariel girl from Ten try to fight a punching bag for the last few minutes, somehow, she's losing.

"Your stance is all wrong," he tells her as he finishes wrapping his fists, "Power has to come from your legs, it isn't the arms."

He slides one foot forward, the other back and drops low.

"Like this."