Microfiction

The Colour of a Bruise

He watched an ant cross a bruise and remembered.

The Colour of a Bruise. Image by ChatGPT.

The little boy sat with his back against the big oak tree in the dark corner of the garden.

He held on to his soft cap tightly and watched the grass sway in the breeze.

A tiny ant was walking between the straws, an unfair battle for an animal that small in a badly maintained garden.

The little boy reached out, and the ant crawled onto his short finger. On the smoother surface, the little one moved much faster.

Up the arm, and as it reached the collar, the tiny feet touched the blue-and-purple skin of his neck. The bruise felt cool.

The little boy felt a light tickling that made him forget all about the ant.

He remembered.

His blue eyes became misty again, and he wished he could leave.

He had to wait.

The garden became darker. The light was turned on in the house. The long shadows reached out for him in the garden. He pulled back against the tree.

His brother would soon be home. He tried to see inside the window, but he was too far away. The shadows passed the windows.

His brother came out into the garden. “I knew I could find you here. I am so sad, but it is not safe yet. Can you stay for a little longer?”

The little boy nodded. Knowing his brother was there made him feel better. Less alone.

Mom left them all. He dreamt about her often. He was sure she would return and rescue them all. Time had made the dream fade.

He was scared. His brother always said he would watch out for him.

He would cry in bed when he could hear the lash of the belt or the soft mumble of his brother repeating, “Please stop.”

Sometimes he fell asleep before his brother returned to their room. He was so ashamed when that happened.

Sometimes, he would crawl into his brother’s bed, and they would hold each other until the morning.

Then he would get back into his own bed before anyone would know.

Only weak boys seek comfort.

Daylight was the safe time. It was in the night the horror emerged.

“Today I will make French toast for us all,” his father said after those nights.

The two boys sat quiet, wishing to go to school.

“Today we will do something together. No school. Isn’t that fantastic, boys?”

The two boys nodded.

They knew better than to answer too slowly.

Written for the ***Bruise* prompt at [Microcosm](https://medium.com/microcosm?source=post_page---publication_nav-460161bde0b8-a3f26d0dd9bf---------------------------------------)**.

Thank you, Sean Michael Schaeller, for suggesting me for this prompt. You should read his story!

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Keep safe.