"Different"

The salty air nipped at his bare skin as he escaped through his newly dug hole. He could feel every stone under foot through his flimsy shoes, but that didn't stop him, after all he had nothing to lose. All he had to do was make it to the next town, he could then board a train to London and escape this nightmare. He was making good progress, the stone houses of the village and the sleepless nights in the orphanage had been left behind as he scrambled his way to the headland. For months now he had been sneaking out to the headland, in fact he had become quite good friends with the Wickie. Wickie was a nickname he was given as the lighthouse keeper, which was a job that ran in his family. Wickie had agreed to let him hide out in his light house for a few days until the nuns stopped looking for him.

He reached his first stop. The view from here stretched across the whole village which lay still and lifeless tucked away in the rolling hills, all the way to the beach with the lighthouse in the distance. The air danced across the land and sea, rustling bushes and lifting the sand into swirls on the floor. He could see a brooding front of clouds being rapidly swept in by the westerlies trade wind and it wasn't taking its time. This could work in his favour as they wouldn't bother looking for him in a storm.

Bark! He whipped around to stare at the source of the noise, the village. He was like a deer in the headlights as he listened again for the sound of an animal on a hunt, with him being its prey. They knew he was gone. Turning he immediately made haste for the lighthouse. The Cornish air was bitter now and it stung tears from his eyes as he galloped along foot paths and through fields not daring to stop.

The storm was upon him by the time he drew near to the lighthouse. Bark! It came again, only this time a lot closer. Turning his head over his shoulder he could see movement in the distance. He sprinted to the door, there was still hope that they would lose his scent in the fields. The sea crashed fiercely over the rock threatening to drag the lighthouse to its watery grave, yet the beacon of light stood strong in the storm. Thrashing on the door for a reply he held on tightly to anything so he could keep his feet from being pushed from under him.

"WICKIE" he roared over the sea. Why wasn't he replying?

Bark! He turned to see 3 hunting dogs fast approaching. His heart started to skip beats as he prepared for the inevitable when the door behind him opened abruptly causing him to fall in. The door was slammed shut again promptly and not soon after it was followed by the scratching and howling of the dogs. His head snapped up quickly to meet a cold stare from a pair of eyes he knew to be so warm and welcoming.

"Where were you!?" he panted out breathlessly. Wickie dropped his gaze,

"Look..." Wickie hesitated. "I can't help you anymore" he spoke softly. When they regained eye contact the look on the man's face immediately turned to one of guilt at the dumbfounded look on the boy's face.

"Why?" he sniffled, choking back tears. The old man's features wrinkled and he started to climb the stairs to the top.

He scrambled to his feet and followed, walking up the narrow cold stairway of the lighthouse. They walked past windows revealing the roaring sea, one in particular made him stop, the head nun accompanied by a few village folk had made it to the lighthouse and were trying to bash the door in. His heart dropped. He made his way to the top to find Wickie looking out over the sea. He stood behind and waited for him to speak.

"I-I", he mumbled over his words, "I didn't realise you were a... ya know" Wickie trailed of.

"A what? Just because I'm different doesn't mean anything. If I stay here any longer who knows what they're gunna do to me, as far as the church is concerned I'm a threat that needs to be dealt with." He was losing his temper. Everyone here was out to get him, even his only friend, his only hope, had betrayed him. Just because of what? He was different? But that wasn't his fault. He never chose to be like this.

He heard the door collapse and angry footsteps started to race up the stairs.

"I'm sorry kid." the old man said. He looked up to meet his eyes with fury and anger which completely shocked the Wickie. He knew he had to be more careful otherwise his temper would get, not just the best of him but everyone else. Finally the first man made it up the stairs gun in hand.

"Hands up kid" he panted pacing towards the boys back. More people followed including the nun. "Look we're not gunna hurt you we just need to get you home safely." the villager reassured unconvincingly. The group could tell something was wrong, by the look on Wickies face, he was frozen in place, petrified, staring at the boy. However the nun knew what was happening,

"Carter, look at me" she commanded. He slowly turned around keeping his face hidden. She snatched the gun of off the villager and held it up to the boy. "Look at me!" she yelled. He lifted his head to meet her sick face.

He wished he could leave. This was truly the definition of hell.

She gasped at his complexion before he heard the sound of the trigger being pulled and everything went dark. He could still hear his breath heavily panting. He opened his eyes slowly to see his body lying still on the floor his eyes completely black. He was dead. Because he was different.

But he was free.