Help Me - Kid!Liz fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
Jan. 18th, 2010 07:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
open_flameCharacter: Liz Sherman Age 11, John T Myers Age 10, Bunch of stupid bullies.
Fandom: Hellboy
Rating: PG ( violence from mean little brats!)
Word Count: 1000
Prompt:scifi_muses vol2. week 24
Fred Fredburger: Hey, hey... are you gonna cry?
Billy: [crying] Sh-Shut up!
AN: Ever wonder how those mean bullies who threw rocks at Liz found out where she lived? Now you know. (No, this isn’t canon. I just noticed Myers grew up in the Kansas City last time I watched Hellboy and ran w/ it. Yes, I know Myers would have known about the explosion when he was a kid this way. Just go ahead and roll with it for me, OK? Thanks.)
“Hey wait up!” I stop and look back at him. He’s got a dorky sweater on and his hair all slicked down like a grown up. He’s running after me like his book bag is too big for him. It is. He must have got all his books today. “How far is it to 4th street from here?” He runs up and asks, out of breath.
“Another 2 blocks.” I say quickly and start walking again, faster than before. I don’t want anyone to see me with him. I don’t want to be the freak and the loser hanging out with the new kid. It’s hard enough. It’s hard enough not to get mad at everyone at school. When I get upset, the fire comes out. I just can’t get upset. It’s simple, really.
“But, I’ve already walked 3 blocks.” He whines and clomps his feet on the ground as he stomps after me, trying to keep up. “Why is it so far?” He’s still stomping, sounding like a kindergartener when he complains like that.
“I have to walk five more blocks. I live on Vine.” I shout back but don’t turn to look at him. I want him to leave me alone. I just want to go home and…maybe Dad will be back. He said he was going to come talk to Mom today. He said he might come back.
It’s my fault he’s gone. They didn’t have to say it, I just know. They were happy and then the fire came. We were all happy. We had a house and Dad liked his job and Mom liked her job. But then we had to move. And move again. Every time the fires got too big we had to move.
It’s my fault.
“I can go with you.” He’s caught up to me again. “I can walk you home.” I stop and look at him. He looks sad and lonely. Too bad. I’m sad and lonely, too. I have to be the new kid all the time.
“You just said you didn’t want to walk three blocks. Why would you want to walk five if three is too much for you?” I’m not nice. I don’t want to be nice. He’s bothering me. I just want him to leave me alone.
“Mom says it’s not safe to walk home by yourself.” He hangs his head and sniffles, his voice shaking like he’s going to cry. “She says ‘John, you have to be very careful and walk home with a friend.’ I want to be your friend.”
He doesn’t have any reason to cry. He’s just a normal old new kid. He’ll make friends and be just fine. I won’t. No body wants to be friends with me. Not after they find out there’s something so wrong with me.
“It’s not safe walking with me. I’m not your friend. ” I shout and start walking again. He doesn’t follow me, and that’s good. I don’t want to get upset. It’s bad when I get upset.
I don’t hear them come up and push him on the ground. I don’t see them kick at him and demand to know where the freak he was walking with was walking to. I don’t hear him crying when the big one, the one who always steals my milk at lunch, hits him in the face. I don’t see them coming up behind me after he tells them I’m going home, going to my street.
I don’t see or hear or feel anything until the first rock hits me in the back of my head. I run my hand though my hair, under my braid. Mom braided it for me; she thought it would make me happy. It didn’t.
My hand is covered in blood when I take it away. It hurts. I stare at the red covering my fingers until I hear the big one yell at me.
“HEY! FREAK! GET BACK HERE!” They’re running towards me fast, and the only thing I can do is run.
Run back home, before it’s too late.
I run until my legs hurt, almost slamming into the fence. I start climbing. I’m almost home. If I can just climb over the fence…
I fall down when another rock hits me in the head. I whimper and gasp as I lose my grip. I try to catch myself before I fall all the way down, but I can’t. I’m sitting on the ground when another rock comes, hitting me above my eyebrow. I can’t see. The blood is pouring down onto my eyes.
“Get up, you freak!” All 3 of them are close enough that I could throw rocks right back, I should throw rocks right back. I don’t want to be like this. I can’t make it stop. I don’t want the fire. I hate the fire.
I’m gasping for breath when they’re eyes go wide as the start to back away. They’re scared. Of me? I look down and then behind me, seeing the fence engulfed in flames and my hands coated in the blue fire.
“Oh, no. Not again.” I look back at them frantically, standing up and moving closer. They have to help me. They can call someone, someone to help me. “Help me!” I’m screaming as my eyes fall to one of them as they trip, falling to the ground. The others are trying to help him up, but he can’t stand on his legs. He’s too scared.
I’m dizzy as I try to stay standing when I hear one of them yell again. “Get away, you freak!” The grass and sand around me is sizzling and smoking as I step on it. I almost fall down as I watch the fire grow around me. Hot, orange flame is consuming the fence and the grass and everything near me. I can’t stop it. I never can. It doesn’t listen to me.
“Somebody help me!” That’s the last thing I say… before it all goes black.
Fandom: Hellboy
Rating: PG ( violence from mean little brats!)
Word Count: 1000
Prompt:
scifi_muses vol2. week 24 Fred Fredburger: Hey, hey... are you gonna cry?
Billy: [crying] Sh-Shut up!
AN: Ever wonder how those mean bullies who threw rocks at Liz found out where she lived? Now you know. (No, this isn’t canon. I just noticed Myers grew up in the Kansas City last time I watched Hellboy and ran w/ it. Yes, I know Myers would have known about the explosion when he was a kid this way. Just go ahead and roll with it for me, OK? Thanks.)
“Hey wait up!” I stop and look back at him. He’s got a dorky sweater on and his hair all slicked down like a grown up. He’s running after me like his book bag is too big for him. It is. He must have got all his books today. “How far is it to 4th street from here?” He runs up and asks, out of breath.
“Another 2 blocks.” I say quickly and start walking again, faster than before. I don’t want anyone to see me with him. I don’t want to be the freak and the loser hanging out with the new kid. It’s hard enough. It’s hard enough not to get mad at everyone at school. When I get upset, the fire comes out. I just can’t get upset. It’s simple, really.
“But, I’ve already walked 3 blocks.” He whines and clomps his feet on the ground as he stomps after me, trying to keep up. “Why is it so far?” He’s still stomping, sounding like a kindergartener when he complains like that.
“I have to walk five more blocks. I live on Vine.” I shout back but don’t turn to look at him. I want him to leave me alone. I just want to go home and…maybe Dad will be back. He said he was going to come talk to Mom today. He said he might come back.
It’s my fault he’s gone. They didn’t have to say it, I just know. They were happy and then the fire came. We were all happy. We had a house and Dad liked his job and Mom liked her job. But then we had to move. And move again. Every time the fires got too big we had to move.
It’s my fault.
“I can go with you.” He’s caught up to me again. “I can walk you home.” I stop and look at him. He looks sad and lonely. Too bad. I’m sad and lonely, too. I have to be the new kid all the time.
“You just said you didn’t want to walk three blocks. Why would you want to walk five if three is too much for you?” I’m not nice. I don’t want to be nice. He’s bothering me. I just want him to leave me alone.
“Mom says it’s not safe to walk home by yourself.” He hangs his head and sniffles, his voice shaking like he’s going to cry. “She says ‘John, you have to be very careful and walk home with a friend.’ I want to be your friend.”
He doesn’t have any reason to cry. He’s just a normal old new kid. He’ll make friends and be just fine. I won’t. No body wants to be friends with me. Not after they find out there’s something so wrong with me.
“It’s not safe walking with me. I’m not your friend. ” I shout and start walking again. He doesn’t follow me, and that’s good. I don’t want to get upset. It’s bad when I get upset.
I don’t hear them come up and push him on the ground. I don’t see them kick at him and demand to know where the freak he was walking with was walking to. I don’t hear him crying when the big one, the one who always steals my milk at lunch, hits him in the face. I don’t see them coming up behind me after he tells them I’m going home, going to my street.
I don’t see or hear or feel anything until the first rock hits me in the back of my head. I run my hand though my hair, under my braid. Mom braided it for me; she thought it would make me happy. It didn’t.
My hand is covered in blood when I take it away. It hurts. I stare at the red covering my fingers until I hear the big one yell at me.
“HEY! FREAK! GET BACK HERE!” They’re running towards me fast, and the only thing I can do is run.
Run back home, before it’s too late.
I run until my legs hurt, almost slamming into the fence. I start climbing. I’m almost home. If I can just climb over the fence…
I fall down when another rock hits me in the head. I whimper and gasp as I lose my grip. I try to catch myself before I fall all the way down, but I can’t. I’m sitting on the ground when another rock comes, hitting me above my eyebrow. I can’t see. The blood is pouring down onto my eyes.
“Get up, you freak!” All 3 of them are close enough that I could throw rocks right back, I should throw rocks right back. I don’t want to be like this. I can’t make it stop. I don’t want the fire. I hate the fire.
I’m gasping for breath when they’re eyes go wide as the start to back away. They’re scared. Of me? I look down and then behind me, seeing the fence engulfed in flames and my hands coated in the blue fire.
“Oh, no. Not again.” I look back at them frantically, standing up and moving closer. They have to help me. They can call someone, someone to help me. “Help me!” I’m screaming as my eyes fall to one of them as they trip, falling to the ground. The others are trying to help him up, but he can’t stand on his legs. He’s too scared.
I’m dizzy as I try to stay standing when I hear one of them yell again. “Get away, you freak!” The grass and sand around me is sizzling and smoking as I step on it. I almost fall down as I watch the fire grow around me. Hot, orange flame is consuming the fence and the grass and everything near me. I can’t stop it. I never can. It doesn’t listen to me.
“Somebody help me!” That’s the last thing I say… before it all goes black.
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Date: 2010-01-20 06:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-20 02:35 pm (UTC)