‘The Wind Brings Rain, Washing the Land Afresh’ was hiding. He wasn’t in trouble, per se, but it, he considered, might be better if he stayed where he was for the moment.
“Wind, get your arse out here you dumb brat!”
The shout got a few looks. They were in a normally-quiet spot on the grassy rooftop, right at the end of the terrace. The nearest stairwell down to ground level was three or four houses back and this was a dead-end, with two of the sides being sheer drops to street-level and the far end a rain-worn wall. Somebody in the distant past had planted the area with fruiting shrubs and vines, and it was a nice place to relax. Normally.
Looking up through the bush he was hiding under, all red fruit and purple leaves, he spotted a small face peering down from the top of the wall, checking what all the noise was about. Up there was another level of streets, and he briefly wondered if he could scale the ivy-covered wall to escape.
His hiding place seemed good though, and he hoped that if he stayed there long enough then his mother would give up and go home. She’d followed him this far mostly out of instinct, and he was pretty sure that the bush was more than dense enough to keep him hidden.
“I swear upon every god I can think of that if you don’t get your arse out here right now, I am going to turn around, go back home, and burn every bit of paper I can find!”
She waved the book she was brandishing above her head like a weapon, and Wind blanched at the threat, his face flushing hot. He didn’t believe that she’d actually burn his drawings, did he? Would she? He hesitated, perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea…
“Wind!” she shouted again. He could see her looking around the area more carefully now, squinting up at the trees that overhung either side of the roof. The book she was wielding looked like an encyclopedia, and he wasn’t sure he could even lift it, never mind take a hit from it.
His mother was a thickset woman, tall and muscled from a lifetime of physical labour. Her skin was light and her hair a deep inky black, wrestled into a neat bun.
Wind, on the other hand, was her complete opposite. He hadn’t inherited her looks or her physique. He was short- okay he'd grown over the past year- but for most of his life he’d been short. He was skinny and without muscles. His hair was bleached almost white and his skin was dark and tanned from hours in the sun.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
If she hit him with that book, he was pretty sure he would die.
He hated it, but the risk of losing his drawings was too much to bear. Steeling himself, he crawled out from under the bush. As he did his mother turned towards him and let out a huffing breath, watching without comment as he struggled to his feet, wiping the dirt off his hands and onto his trousers.
Watching him, the anger seemed to drain out of her, and she lowered the book, tucking it away under one arm.
“What’ve you been up to, Wind…” she eyed his dirty, mid-shin length trousers, before drawing in a breath. “The school tells me you’ve been nicking supplies from the art room. What’s even going on with you…”
He scrubbed at his nose with one hand, wanting to hide. It would be so much easier if she was still angry, allowing him to hide his shame behind misdirected anger. All this understanding dreck was just… Why did she always make this so difficult!
“I didn’t want-” he winced and trailed off, hesitating, before trying again, “I didn’t think anyone would miss ‘em mum, it was only a bit of paper and some inks…”
He squeezed his eyes half-shut, not wanting to see her face.
“Only some… Did I bring you, my only son, up to steal?” he flinched as her hand brushed against his face, before settling gently on his shoulder.
“You’re almost 15 now, you're gonna be out of school in a couple of months anyway.” A shake of her head, transferred through the tight muscles of her arm. “If you wanted art supplies you could have just asked… I have some money set aside for emergencies, you know that.”
“Emergencies, mum.” He opened his eyes and tried to push her away, taking the easy opening for anger, “I don’t need you to use that for this junk!”
It was like trying to push away a tree.
She looked him over with a sigh, holding him at arm's length, but refusing to take the bait or let him break away.
The look on her face made his heart clench up.
“I thought,” Wind screwed his face up as he struggled to find the words. “I thought that if I could just draw real well, then I could sell them to the old rat on Sellers Street. He bought one of my drawings before, a fox…” He looked down, exhausted and out of words. Trying to look anywhere except her face.
“I thought I could just… Replace it like… Once I was done.”
The hand on his shoulder tightened, and she drew him in for a hug. With his face in her shoulder, her voice was quiet and muffled to his ears. “I already paid the school back for the supplies.”
He tried to flinch away, but her arm was like timber across his back.
“We’ll go home,” her voice was soft, “we’ll go home and we’ll sort out the good ones. Make sure that old rat pays you what they’re worth.”
With a gentle movement, she pressed her hand into his back and turned him so they were side to side, her arm heavy around his shoulders.
"Let's go home, lad. We’ll sort it out."