Friend

Friend

Silence.

The smaller fell backwards without a sound, not fighting back against his attackers. There was no point; his daily beatings were the norm, an inevitable fact of life that couldn’t be changed. Not even if he wanted it to.

At first he’d hated it, the pain. Blow after blow, raining down on him like an endless downpour of fists. Now, he welcomed the pain: at least it showed he could feel at all.

So he lay back and waited for the comfort of the dark to take him away. He knew it would be soon now – the black spots were already soothing his vision into blurred shadows, the sounds of fists meeting bruised, weak skin already growing softer…fading away…

“HEY…HEY! WHAT THE HELL D’YOU THINK YOU’RE PLAYING AT!”

His attackers paused. Something was wrong here…

“GET OFF HIM!”

They stopped punching. This wasn’t right, no-one had ever interrupted before…

The figure on the floor raised his head feebly, in a daze. Who did this person think they were? What right did they have to come rushing, like some knight in shining armour, to the aid of someone who didn’t need to be rescued? He was about to tell this person in no uncertain terms to ‘go away’ when he felt a pair of large, warm hands lift him with a surprising gentleness until a blurred face invaded his vision: lightly tanned skin, dark, spiky hair and a look of concern in dark eyes. Like twin vats of chocolate.

“You alright, Buddy?”
“Wha…?”
“Hey, careful. Don’t try to talk just yet, friend. That was quite a beating you took there.”

Even from the floor he could feel the smile in that voice, and was mildly surprised to discover that it didn’t infuriate him.
Perhaps that was due to the fact that this spiky-haired stranger was the first person to ever call him ‘friend’.