Page 1 of Love and War

Prologue

Aziza

Aziza – Six years old

Killian – Ten years old

Inthegrandschemeof things, I shouldn’t have thrown my green toy tractor at the boy, but he also shouldn’t have been bullying me; yet here he was. I don’t know what painted a big red target sign above my head either. I was minding my own business, playing in the sand, waiting for Holly to finish whatever business she was doing with that man.Gross.

Even at the age of six, I was smart enough to know mostly what she was doing. I may not understand it nor want to understand. Hence why I was playing at this park by myself, getting bullied by two boys that were clearly older than me.

This happened once a month.

Not the bullying, but me being left alone.

Playing in this park, it’s been this way since I was four. Most of the time I’d have a babysitter. This was the first time Holly told me to just run off and go play. She didn’t have to tell me twice.

“You stupid little girl!” the one I threw the toy at screamed. I chuckled at the blood that freshly coated his nose. Which I should’ve known was a mistake from the seething child, who was covering his precious nose. It couldn’t have been that bad.

I forced myself not to roll my eyes, a bad habit Holly told me I have. I sat on my butt in the sand, hands on my thighs, waiting for them to leave. Or decide what they wanted to do with me.

“You’re going to pay for that,” his friend forced out, spit flying from his mouth.

I may be young; some would even say dumb. But I didn’t understand why they were so angry. I mean, sure a bloody nose was not ideal. But what do you expect when you bully someone?

I was used to it. I got bullied daily; this was nothing new.

Both boys stepped forward, but it was the one whose nose was bleeding that reached forward, shoving me onto my back. I cringed at the idea of him getting his blood on me. His eyes welled with tears, as though he was trying his best not to cry. I wanted to tell him it was okay to cry, but I also shouldn’t have the weird feeling to comfort my bullies.

But I was a people pleaser. Another fault that Holly forced on me. I mean, what six-year-old should be such a people pleaser? I should worry about what color the little lion should be in my coloring book. Not worrying if I’m making too much noise when trying to make a bowl of cereal.

Stale cereal at that.

But as a people pleaser, I had many faults. Which is why I let this boy, with black hair, brown eyes, and drying blood on his upper lip, threaten to smash my face in with my toy tractor. Now I should be scared, I should be crying, maybe even protecting my face to get him to stop. Yet I did none of that. It was no different from being threatened by a paddle or a belt.

“You’re just a stupid little girl.” The boy grabbed hold of my purple flowered shirt. Sometimes I wondered why I didn’t react to this. “You think you can get away with this?”

Get away with what? Throwing a toy tractor?

I wanted to ask if he needed therapy. Maybe talking to someone could help with the anger issues he was displaying. But I learned if I opened my mouth and said something about this anger, or about seeking some type of help, it always resulted in them lashing out even more.

“You gonna cry about it?” he asked. I could have answered, but I didn’t. He didn’t truly want to know, or I didn’t think he did. “Are you freaking stupid, too? Can’t speak?”

I didn’t understand if he wanted me to actually answer him, or if he was just showing off for his buddy, who was laughing behind us.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But no words came out. It happened a lot. I spoke a lot in my head and had conversations. Sometimes I thought I’d say them out loud, but never did. It was easier.

Oof.

My head fell back as the toy tractor connected with my nose. I could already feel the blood trickling down onto my upper lip. The bright blue sky came into focus, the heat from the sun, the light causing me to squint. I waited for the pain to ease before I lifted my head, realizing he was no longer on top of me.

Instead, both boys were on the grass outside the sandbox. Two other boys standing tall by their feet. One was leaning down, saying something I couldn’t make out; he was speaking so low. But from the way the two bullies lying on the ground trembled, I could guess they feared the two standing above.

“Don’t look at her again,” the leaning one hissed out. “Get out of here!”

If real people could leave smoke as the cartoon ones did, you’d see it. The two from the ground ran down the street, not daring to look behind them.

Now should be the time I got up and ran away as well. I mean, my nose was bleeding, my head was beginning to pound. I needed to find a place to clean up before Holly found me like this. It would definitely not be good.

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