Young Writers Society

*before you begin, please note that the italics are not from Finn's point of view.  I suggest re-reading the last paragraph of the previous chapter located below for a refresher!  Thanks for reading! <3

Chapter 1: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=113...

Chapter 2: http://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=113...

Witt followed Collin into the dining room, his eyes cast down to his sealskin ankle boots. Collin smiled and pulled out a chair for him, but Witt stayed where he was, leaning up against the ornate doorframe between the foyer and dining room.

“Aren’t ya hungry, Witt?” Collin asked with a sigh. This was nearly a daily occurrence, and everyone was tiring of it. Ever since Witt had lost his parents, he hadn’t been eating, and he had lots a considerable amount of weight since he arrived at the home of Elliot Olhouser. He was a healthy little boy in every way, except for the fact that he refused to eat more than a very little bit at a time.

“Collin I don’t want to eat any more please don’t make me.” He pleaded, his lip quivering with the promise of tears.

“Witt ya have ta. Ya want ta grow big an’ strong, don’t’cha?” Witt shook his head. “How come?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yer papa says ya have ta eat.” Collin prompted gently. He quite liked Witt and Rig, and was always careful not to make them upset. They had been through very much in their little lives, and they didn’t deserve what had happened to them.

“My papa didn’t say anything.” Witt said quietly, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor.

“Sure he did! He told ya ta try an’ finish yer egg, remember?” Collin said, crouching down beside Witt and placing one of his impossibly large hands on Witt’s skinny shoulders. Witt swatted his hand away.

“My papa didn’t say anything! My papa is dead!” he shouted, tears erupting from his eyes. He stood and ran off, up the stairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself. He climbed up onto his bed in the corner and pressed his ratty stuffed dog up against his face, smelling it; inhaling his past.

Witt sat quietly for quite some time, his face against his pillow, facing the wall. He only looked up when he heard a soft knock on the door, followed by Ezra turning the knob slowly. Witt sat up.

“Hello Ezra.” He said halfheartedly. He supposed if anyone was going to come into his bedroom, he would want it to be him. He was quiet and kind, and wouldn’t scold him.

Ezra walked slowly across the room, kicking off his shiny shoes before sitting down on the end of Witt’s bed, pulling his feet up and sitting with his legs crossed. Ezra always seemed uncomfortable, whatever position he was in. He never seemed to fit correctly into his skin, like he was both too big and too small for himself at the same time. His eyes were always sad, even when he was smiling or laughing, and his dark, shaggy hair always hung in his face. He was very small, for someone of his age; not much taller than Witt, though Witt was 12 and Ezra was 18.

Witt sighed, wrapping his skinny arms around his legs and resting his head on top of his knees. Ezra eyed his boots.

“I guess I should take them off, if I’m sitting in bed…” he said after a moment, following Ezra’s intent gaze. He untied the thin ankle boots and dropped them to the floor with a soft pat. “My Papa made them for me, right before he died.” Witt explained, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Ezra nodded. He already knew, but he allowed Witt to speak, half because he wanted Witt to feel better, half because he wasn’t sure how to stop him without speaking himself—something Ezra was incapable of.

“Where are your mama and papa, Ezra?” Witt asked. Ezra shrugged.

“Are they alive?” Ezra shrugged again and shook his head, truly unsure. He hadn’t seen his parents for many years, and knew nothing of there whereabouts.

“I miss my papa…” Witt began, crawling into Ezra’s lap. Ezra recoiled slightly, but put his arms around Witt as best he could and held him, hoping he was offering some sort of comfort. Witt did this often when they were together, but still, Ezra never knew what to do. Witt was very affectionate with people he felt close to, and Ezra was one of those few people.

“I miss my mama too,” he added, “but I miss my papa most, I think.” Ezra nodded and ran his hand through Witt’s white hair. Ezra had never seen a child like Witt before, so fair and colorless, but even in his monochromatic existence, Witt really was a beautiful child, with an angelic face and ghostly pale complexion like a china doll. Most everyone who saw him thought him beautiful. Witt was unaware.

“Me and my papa used to do lots of things together, when Rig was home sick with mama…Rig was always sick, and I think Papa just felt a bit sorry for me. I didn’t have any friends because we didn’t have money for schooling, and we lived all alone near the beach. Papa was a fisherman, but I think I told you that.” Ezra nodded, but smiled meekly; he didn’t mind. He was a very good listener. Listening comes naturally to those who do not speak. Ezra looked down at Witt’s thin sealskin boots.

They weren’t the traditional sort, with fur lining and thick laces. They were thin, made more like a pair of moccasins than boots, but Witt loved them. He wore them everywhere, all the time.

“My papa made those…he found a whole seal skin on the beach, isn’t that strange?” Witt said, reaching down off the bed and retrieving one of his shoes. He played with the blue glass beats at the ends of the laces, rolling them in his dexterous fingers. “Someone must have left it by mistake. Papa was going to sell it, but I didn’t have a pair of shoes, and town was far away…I thought it was a little sad. The skin was so pretty and spotted and soft, but it wasn’t really useful all put together…We didn’t want to waste it.” Ezra nodded, seeming a bit pained. Witt wrapped his arms around Ezra’s slender middle.

“I’m glad you came to sit with me. You always make me feel better.” He said with a small smile. Ezra returned the grin, somewhat awkwardly. Everything Ezra did was awkward.

“You’re like a very good big brother.” Witt added. Ezra nodded and shrugged with a crooked grin. He never had a sibling before.

--o0o--

Elliot carried me into my bedroom and sat me down on the bed.

“Ready?” he asked with a smile.

“I guess so.” I said, slightly nervous. That contraption leaning against the wall looked slightly intimidating. It was metallic and unnatural, and I was frightened that it was going to be attached to me.

“Alright. I am going to have to do a small procedure on your leg first, if that’s agreeable.” He said. I nodded reluctantly, a wave of terror hit me when he saw Elliot remove a needle and a large syringe out of his pocket.

“What’s that for?” I asked, my eyes wide.

“Local anesthetic. It shouldn’t hurt a bit.” He smiled.

“Why is it so big?”

“Well, there’s quite a bit of area I need to cover. The more medication, the less you will feel.” He explained. “Look away, and it’ll be done before you know it.” He said, reaching back into his pocket and retrieving a small bottle of alcohol and a cotton pad. He cleaned off the end of my missing leg, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Finnegan please relax. You’ll only make this take longer if you stay all bound up!” he said with a smile, taking my fisted hand in his own and holding it. I took a deep breath and did my best to calm down, holding Elliot’s hand as he ran his thumb across my knuckles.

“Have you heard the frogs out in the lake?” he asked. My eyes were still squeezed shut when I shook my head, no. “Have you looked out the window and seen the water lilies?” I shook my head again, still terrified. “Well why don’t you have a look? It’s a beautiful day.” He suggested. I opened my eyes slightly, looking out the window.

“Just a little pinch…” he said.

“Ouch! No stop!” I shouted, tears in my eyes.

“It’s done! All finished!” he said with a smile, wiping my eyes and giving me a hug. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked. I shook my head with a little smile.

“No. Not so bad.” I replied with a little grin.

“Very good. Now that that’s finished, it’s time for the fun part.” He grinned. I became worried again.

“What part is that?” I asked.

“Have you noticed this bit right here?” he asked, showing me a metal bit on the end of my ruined leg.

“No…Was that there the whole time?” I asked. He nodded.

“Yes. The nerves in your leg are all tied in to this little metal bit here. When I put the rest of the prosthesis on, this will allow you to move it like your old leg.”

“Oh…Alright.” I said, looking at my leg. I felt strange, like I was part robot, and I was worried I may not be a real person anymore, though I knew that was a silly thought.

“This ring here will slide around the end of your leg like this…” he said, sliding the silvery bit from the top of the prosthetic over the metal piece attached to my leg. “This will stay on. You won’t need to remove it.” He explained. I nodded. “These clips here will keep the rest of your leg in place, and this is the safety, in case the clips break or fail, though that rarely happens.” He smiled. I nodded again. He pressed hard on the new attachment until it clicked into place. A tingle ran up my leg.

“Was that supposed to happen? That sort of tingling?” I asked.

“It is.” He said, reaching for the larger part of the prosthesis; the part that resembled a true leg. He slipped the top into the metal port he had just put into place, and the two clips snapped closed. He then flipped down the safety clips and grinned up at me as I sat on the bed.

“Would you like to try to stand up?” he asked. I nodded and he stood up, taking my hands and helping me up. I placed my ‘real’ foot onto the floor, then I dragged the prosthetic upright, finding it heavy and cumbersome, but I placed it down, holding Elliot’s hands, my knees shaking.

“Put weight on the prosthetic. See if you can keep your knee from bending.” He said. I did as he said, pleased when my new leg did not bend under my weight. I smiled up at him.

“Well done!” he applauded. “Try and take a step.” I concentrated very hard, and used what was left of my thigh to pull up on the prosthesis, letting it swing forward before placing it back onto the ground again. I pursed my lips into a line, concentrating. I put weight on my foot, then moved my proper leg, and Elliot took a step backwards, helping me along.

“Very good, Finnegan. You’re doing wonderfully.” He said, picking me up and sitting me back down on the bed. “You’ll be good as new within the week, I’d bet!”

“That would be very nice.” I said with a smile. He rubbed my auburn hair. “It feels sort of strange now, though…” I admitted, leaning back on the bed, sleepy again. I hadn’t really woken up all of the way, it seemed, and my eyes were becoming heavy. Keeping them open became a burden.

“Well that’s because it’s brand new! Your brain doesn’t understand it yet. It will feel better in time. Soon you won’t even know it’s there and you’ll be running and jumping and dancing just as you used to.” He smiled. I allowed my eyes to close.

“I hope that’s soon.”

“I sure it will be, Finnegan.”