#stoning

Update on my Silver AB rhinestone encrusted globe

Filippo Lauri The stoning of St. Stephen

Here's my first official story, people. This one is about a boy named Mouse. Apparently that's his actual name, which I don't really believe but I'll respect his privacy. He's 21 years old now, so we have to go back about a decade for this one. Get your 1803 caps on. - Daria

Mouse: 10

Mouse rubbed at his arms. The cold kept biting at him, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He had taken Grandpa’s warmest winter coat with him, and yet the air kept getting him. It was okay though. He didn’t want to bother Grandpa about buying a thicker coat, their funds were limited. 

Mouse would deal with the cold for now and maybe he could steal an extra thick one later. 

Besides, the cold didn’t matter as much to him as finding food. He and grandpa were too skinny compared to everyone else. He had to fix that!

So Mouse trudged on through the streets littered with people in colorful clothing and pretty hats. The only ones who didn’t tower over him were the babies in people’s arms. He learned a long time ago that walking alone would get him into trouble, so he picked a nice looking couple to follow close behind. He acted as their child for a portion of the walk, before he turned down another street and leached onto another unknowing couple. No one suspected him if he was with ‘mom and dad’. 

Occasionally he would find a dropped coin or a trinket that looked of worth, and would quickly shove it in his pocket. He kept his posture straight most of the time, ducking down to ‘adjust his shoe’ every time he found something. 

Sometimes he would even find valuables on the people he followed. An intricate pocket watch could be taken with a simple pluck, cufflinks could be taken off disguised as grabbing papa’s hand, coin purses could be swiped as long as the holder was distracted enough. 

Mouse was good at stealing. 

By the end of his walk he had collected two pocket fulls of stolen items he could sell and coins he could buy food with. He made his way through the alleyways towards the lake to see if there was anyone willing to buy his trinkets. 

Mouse took a breath and put on his cute little kid facade to face the strangers. 

“Excuse me, sir?” Mouse muttered, fiddling with his hands and widening his big brown eyes. He looked up at the man in the boat with a quivering lip and shivered hard from the cold, both actions fake. 

The man in the boat spared him a glance, then went back for another look with his eyebrows raised. 

“Oh my God! Kid, that coat is paper thin! Who left you here alone?” he exclaimed.

Mouse shook his head and shrugged his shoulders more, utilizing his size to earn the man’s favor. “I’m here with papa, sir. We just stepped outside to see the lake, but mama wanted me to sell some of my stuff while we were here. I’m getting a bunch more for my birthday in a few days anyway.”

The man nervously adjusted his wide brimmed hat. He looked unsure about taking some poor kid’s belongings, but something about the wrinkle in his nose said he was considering it. Mouse hid his smile in his hand by blowing warmth into them.

“I have a silver pocket watch?” Mouse encouraged. He pulled the watch out of his pocket and showed him.

That got a sigh out of the boat man. He turned to dig around behind his seat. He pulled out seventy glorious schillings in a pouch and handed it to Mouse, who took it eagerly. He reached out to give the man the pocket watch, when there was suddenly a shout from behind him. 

Up on the road, a lady with a red face was pointing directly at Mouse and hollering about a watch. The pocket watch. Shoot.

“That’s my watch! Honey, I found my watch! That little tramp stole it! Police!” she screamed, throwing a fit in the middle of the road. Her husband next to her straightened his spine and locked eyes with Mouse at the same time the police a little ways down the road heard the shrieking. 

Hag. 

“Hey!”

Mouse pocketed the watch and took off down the road with the speed of a fully grown, athletic adult. He heard the boat man’s shouts behind him about scams, but he didn’t turn back to look. All of them could be chasing him for all he knew.

Wait… Was that?

Oh no. 

Barking. The police had dogs. 

Mouse made a hard right into the alleyway next to the bakery. It was pitch black in there and led to a secluded little street behind the main shops. 

His heart pounded hard and his lungs burned. 

His feet landed softly on the ground with every step, making almost no noise; perks of being small and stealthy. Ha, like a mouse.

It was darker in the opposite street and there were much less people. Good, less people to see where he goes. He couldn’t lead the police back to Grandpa, and he definitely couldn’t lead them to Lukas. Grandpa was too old and sick and Lukas was… spacy. 

He loved them both to death, but they couldn’t help with this. 

The barking was getting louder. Damn! The dogs were fast! He slammed sides with a lady on the street and only had a moment to understand that he was falling over. Face first, actually, into the brick road. 

Mouse did not scream, he only flung his hands out to catch most of the weight and awkwardly knocked his chin and chest on the ground. He thought he scraped his knee too, but this wasn’t really the time to stop and check. The dogs were on him.

He still did not scream, even as a pack of six police dogs trampled him, their claws catching on his coat and tearing it in places. They dug into his skin and the dogs jumped around and on him, barking barking barking still. So loud! Too loud! His arms burned where they protected his face and neck from the onslaught. He couldn’t let the scars become visible, Lukas would ask questions.

His flesh ripped audibly as one of the dogs dug its teeth into his forearm and tugged. Blood splashed onto his face and coat -sorry, Grandpa- and his hair was sticking to his forehead because of it. 

He coughed lightly, curling into a tight little ball and waiting for the mauling to be over. This was fine. He would wait it out.

Surely the police will stop them?

Right?

…Right…?

A hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his assortment of stolen items. There was a tsk of disappointed teeth as, what he assumed was the cop, took all of his things. 

“Ah, stop.” the policeman said casually to the dogs, who backed up but kept up the barking and snarling. What an asshole.

Mouse was afraid to open his eyes and see those giant teeth gnashing so hard they cracked. Those teeth could tear into his bones. He would snap like a twig. He would die.

“I can’t have you continuing to steal, boy. I’ll write you off today, but if I see you again out here I won’t be so kind.” 

Mouse only squeaked. He stayed in a tight ball until the barks grew distant and the street had settled back into tentative silence. 

Was it… okay now?

Mouse opened one eye and looked out of his arm-shell. No dogs. No police. No angry boatmen and hags. 

Okay. Okay! This was okay. He was okay. 

His coat was in tatters and there was blood all over the road from his arm- oh God, which was missing he was missing a chunk of. Mouse leaned over and gagged dry at the sight of his own veins and muscle hanging out in strands. Jesus Christ, blood really was everywhere. Aside from… that… and the occasional scratch, he was okay. He was alive. He’d probably recover. He always recovered.

His knee had been scratched in the fall, and the woman he bumped into had apparently fled because she was nowhere to be seen. A shame, really, Mouse wanted to apologize for hitting her and getting mauled right next to her. That must have been traumatic. 

Mouse stood on shaking legs and stumbled away from the gore. Grandpa’s house was only about an hour walk away in the opposite direction. Lukas was only fifteen minutes the other way, however. Mouse looked longingly back in the direction of Lukas, knowing he couldn’t go. He was too bloody and messed up at the moment. He would have to skip their next meeting to wait for his injury to heal a bit. He didn’t want Lukas to ask questions.

He was lucky Grandpa couldn’t see.

 He hoped he wouldn't get an infection and die. Both of them would surely notice if he was dead.

Moving his arm at the elbow hurt a bit, but only because the wound had torn skin around it reaching a few inches on either side of the gash, reaching his elbow- OW!

Mouse looked to the left, halting his slow limping to see what just hit him in the side of the head. He used his uninjured hand to rub at the spot right above his ear. It came away bleeding a tad. Shoot.

On the other side of the wide road was a group of five boys, all dressed like they had homes, snickering and playing with stones. They were looking at Mouse like he was an icky bug. 

Did that mean they would squash him like one?

The biggest boy threw another rock, hitting Mouse square between the eyes. He recoiled and fell on his butt trying to back up. The boys laughed at his tumble and threw more rocks. Each one hit Mouse on a new part of his body. Tiny rocks hurt the sharpest, like little knives cutting into his skin. Larger rocks the size of his fist hurt like police batons did. Mouse fell onto his side, blocking his face with his arm and used his injured one to drag himself closer to the nearest alleyway.

One particularly big rock that looked about the same size as a melon flew in slow motion with its weight. Mouse watched it soar through the air with a horrible sort of grace, coming straight for his face, and he squeaked but his limbs froze in place. Frantically, he tried to duck out of the way. He couldn’t possibly drag himself away fast enough with an injured arm. 

Mouse felt every second of the big rock knocking him on the top of the head as he ducked as fast as he could under it. Not fast enough, obviously. The thing hit him hard, scraping his scalp and pulling out some hairs as it rolled across the top of his head. Mouse was pulled backwards by his head onto his back, the world turning bright and overstimulating for a long time. Nothing was real, surely? The sky was spinning. The building surrounding him stretched impossibly high. Dizzy! Oh, very dizzy? Where was he? 

Blood dripped down his face into his eyes, but he couldn’t blink it away because his body wouldn’t obey him. He was just so dizzy. Was he going to die? That would be okay. 10 years is long enough on this earth, right? 

He’d just be… sad… to… leave… Lukas….. Grandpa…….

Mouse woke up to snow, red snow, and a hand shaking him. He blinked his eyes open to see the fuzzy picture of a woman’s scared face hovering over him. She was speaking, but he couldn’t understand her. Oh no, she looked so worried. Was she alright? Did she need help?

Mouse tried to sit up, but was pushed back down by her gentle hand. Something was shoved into his hand, and there were suddenly kisses all over his face. Huh? What was this?

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ah, that’s what she was saying.

Someone called the women from further away, and she looked regretfully at Mouse before running away. 

Oh, bye bye then. 

Sluggish, Mouse raised his hand to look at what she had given him. It was a large wad of bandages. Large enough to cover all his injuries. He teared up at the notion. 

He turned his head and there sat a large basket full of vegetables and fruit. 

She must have been an angel. 

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!”

Then falling on his knees, he cried out with a loud voice,

“Lord, do not hold this sin against them!”

Having said this, he fell asleep.