Growing Up A Superhero (2)
The short boy stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, glaring at the surface of the water. At twelve years of age he--miraculously, if one considered his temperament--toted few scars. His youthful, unlined face was full of the worry and weight of a twelve year old, the one that seemed all consuming and heavy as the world. This particular day, that worry had taken the form of a certain bully.
"Well, shrimp? Ya gonna jump or not?"
The taunt, cast from the bully of topic, fell squarely on the shoulders of the shrimp in question. "Mebbe I am, mebbe I ain't," came the haughty reply.
With a cry and a charge the bully and his cronies raced toward the shorter and younger boy, fists ready to do some serious damage.
At the ancient old age of twelve, this boy was already proving to be quite the scrapper. He flung fists with the best of them, though he took more licks than he gave. Considering it was four thirteen year old boys against one twelve year old, that wasn't surprising. Within moments they had the scrapper by arms and legs, and were hurling him into the water--bloody lips and all.
One a' these days, the child thought as the almost-frozen liquid closed over his head and the bullies ran off, I'm gonna get them.
***
It was so cold the lake had frozen over. The smart birds were long gone, and the stupid ones holed up in their nests. Logan thought that he should have been holed up in his nest, but he had sworn to get Them back and he was gonna.
Ignoring his protesting, raw palms, he pulled himself up farther in the tree and waited. Jack and Billy and Andrew and Tom had cut school today, and Logan had a hunch they would be headed down this way with their new girls. Logan, thinking with the wisdom of a twelve year old boy, thought girls were gross. He was pondering this profound thought when he heard something from the path below, and stuck his head through the leaves of his branch to see four boys in trousers and jackets and various other things to keep warm, accompanied by four girls in their dresses, petticoats, jackets, mufflers and bonnets.
Taking a better grip on his barrel of Stuff, Logan waited rather impatiently for the eight people--he had been doing his math--to reach the spot he had chosen below.
Jack's gonna kill me fer this, fer sure, he thought to himself as the barrel tipped and the contents--berries, mud, fish guts and other unsavory items--fell onto the girls and boys below.
There was an outraged shout--four of them, accompanied by four squeals--and Logan swiftly raced from the branch of his tree to the one next to him. In this fashion he managed to stay just ahead of his would-be pursuers, keeping barely out of the reach of ready-to-kill hands. Once he was a bit ahead he jumped from the trees and took off at a dead run, his feet beating a staccato on the hard packed ground. All the way back to his house he ran, Jack on his heels. For a moment he thought he was going to make it, then the larger boy lunged for his boots and caught.
Oh boy, Logan thought to himself as he hit the dirt. I am so dead.
In point of fact, he wasn't. Beaten severely by a much larger boy, yes, but dead, no. I woulda preferred death, he thought to himself as he gazed at his reflection in the lake an hour or more later. At least that wouldn'ta been so embarrassing.
He sighed as the sun fell behind a mountain, and he knew it was time to be getting home. His father was going to be so unhappy. Tonight was the night they were having Mr. and Mrs. LePorte over for dinner.
Slowly he walked home, hoping to postpone the inevitable. Finally, though, he arrived. He walked into his tiny, four room house as though he were expecting a thunderstorm inside, already wearing a whipped-puppy expression he knew his mother fell for.
"Oh, Logan," she said before he'd even made it all the way in. She stood by the pot-bellied stove, hands on her hips. "What have you done to your clothes?"
That hadn't really been the reaction he'd expected. The way his face looked--as though he'd been danced on by a rampaging moose--he'd expected something along the lines of 'we're having company and you look like a scoundrel,' or maybe 'whatever happened? Did those boys pick on you again?' or anything in between. Anything but a comment about his clothes.
Of course, if he wasn't going to get in trouble, he surely wasn't going to argue.
Swiftly he ducked his head and hurried to the back room, where he pulled off his shirt and walked--hard, yet scrawny chest bare--to the water basin and tiny mirror, hoping that something could be done for his black eyes and bloody nose.
He had to look again when he saw it.
And one last time.
For a moment he thought it was magic. But, being an almost-adult twelve-year-old (even if he was short and concave), he didn't believe in that sort of thing anymore.
Slowly, a grin spread across his face. He dipped his hands in the frigid water and splashed it across his cheeks, letting the blood that had dried rinse away. He knew that a short while ago, when he had looked in the lake, he'd been hurt. Now, however, it appeared that he was whole.
He eyed himself for a moment. He turned his face from one side to the next, poking and prodding.
Finally, wondering if it would happen again, he took his pocket knife and pricked his finger. The cut sealed almost immediately. Logan was quiet for a moment, pondering this new--and possibly unholy--development. Eventually a slow smile spread across his features and a mischievous gleam entered his gray eyes. Oh, this certainly had possibilities. Yup. There was no way Jack could beat him now. He chuckled gleefully to himself as he changed his clothes and turned to leave the room. Now he could do all the mean things he wanted, and Jack couldn't even hurt him back! Ha!
"What are you so happy about, mister?" his mother asked as Logan walked in, looking rather proud of himself.
Logan eyed the slight woman for a minute, then just smiled wider. "I jus' learned a new trick today, that's all."
And the grin widened.
**********************
Mica named this, though not purposefully. :) She said, "*laughs* youth, a healing factor and a bully where to prove it... what else may life offer?"
Back to the living room -
What Else May Life Offer? 1/1/
JBMcDragon
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