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lovecraft fugitives
#WritcoStoryPrompt29
I ran all the way home from the ground, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of my footsteps. The older boys had beaten me up good, but I still had the strength to run as far as I could from them. My face was throbbing, and my body ached, but the fear of facing my mother's anger pushed me to keep going.
As I reached our small, worn-out house, I hesitated for a moment. I knew my mother would be furious when she saw my battered state. It was almost ironic in a way – I had been beaten up, yet I was more afraid of my mother's reaction than the bullies who had targeted me. But I had no choice, I couldn't bring myself to tell her the real reason the boys picked on me.
You see, my mother was a strong woman, a true embodiment of Lovecraft's characters, facing the darkness with unwavering resolve. But there was a twist to my story that I knew would shatter her heart. The boys had taunted me not just because I was an easy target, but because of my mother's own unique reputation in our small town.
She was known as the "Witch of Hollowbrook," a title she had earned due to her unconventional beliefs and practices. She had an uncanny ability to sense things beyond the ordinary, and she often spoke of energies and forces that the townspeople dismissed as mere fantasies. Her interests in the mystic and the arcane had labeled us as outsiders, and the boys took delight in targeting me, the son of the supposed witch.
I pushed the creaky door open, my mother's voice echoing from the kitchen. She turned as I entered, her eyes widening in shock as she saw my bruised face. Without a word, she rushed to me, her anger forgotten, replaced by a mother's concern.
"What happened, my dear?" Her voice trembled as she helped me sit down.
"I... I got into a fight," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
Her fingers gently brushed my bruises as she sighed. "You're not a fighter, my child. What could have driven you to this?"
I felt a lump in my throat, torn between protecting her from the truth and letting her in on the painful secret.
"I didn't want to burden you," I finally admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "You think they targeted you because of me, don't you?"
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes.
She...
I ran all the way home from the ground, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of my footsteps. The older boys had beaten me up good, but I still had the strength to run as far as I could from them. My face was throbbing, and my body ached, but the fear of facing my mother's anger pushed me to keep going.
As I reached our small, worn-out house, I hesitated for a moment. I knew my mother would be furious when she saw my battered state. It was almost ironic in a way – I had been beaten up, yet I was more afraid of my mother's reaction than the bullies who had targeted me. But I had no choice, I couldn't bring myself to tell her the real reason the boys picked on me.
You see, my mother was a strong woman, a true embodiment of Lovecraft's characters, facing the darkness with unwavering resolve. But there was a twist to my story that I knew would shatter her heart. The boys had taunted me not just because I was an easy target, but because of my mother's own unique reputation in our small town.
She was known as the "Witch of Hollowbrook," a title she had earned due to her unconventional beliefs and practices. She had an uncanny ability to sense things beyond the ordinary, and she often spoke of energies and forces that the townspeople dismissed as mere fantasies. Her interests in the mystic and the arcane had labeled us as outsiders, and the boys took delight in targeting me, the son of the supposed witch.
I pushed the creaky door open, my mother's voice echoing from the kitchen. She turned as I entered, her eyes widening in shock as she saw my bruised face. Without a word, she rushed to me, her anger forgotten, replaced by a mother's concern.
"What happened, my dear?" Her voice trembled as she helped me sit down.
"I... I got into a fight," I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
Her fingers gently brushed my bruises as she sighed. "You're not a fighter, my child. What could have driven you to this?"
I felt a lump in my throat, torn between protecting her from the truth and letting her in on the painful secret.
"I didn't want to burden you," I finally admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. "You think they targeted you because of me, don't you?"
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes.
She...
