Big Boy (short story, weekend freewrite)

Kurt was a huge, comfortable man, whose body dropped fast into any inviting spaces. At 6'8" he couldn't help but be intimidating to most other typical humans, even if he was the sweetest guy around. His manner was nearly timid, but no one saw that, of course, not when he towered over them like a monster.

No one could know that Kurt had been this size since he'd suddenly had an outrageous growth spurt at 11. He'd been teased and tormented right up until the moment that he'd fought back.

He hadn't meant to actually hurt anyone, he'd just wanted them to stop. Stop yelling, stop hitting him. He wanted to be able to go out to the playground and play like the other kids, but it was no use.

Fear does horrible things to people, children included.

The bullies were half his size, but they were relentless. They poured water in his lunch pail, ruining his food or worms in his sandwiches, laughing hysterically with all the other kids when he gagged and spit it out.

Kurt eventually stopped eating lunch at school altogether, but it didn't make any difference. He still kept growing.

Maybe it would have been okay, eventually. The other kids were growing too, although they'd never get to his size, at least he wouldn't seem like quite such a monster.

If only he hadn't gotten angry that one time. If he'd realized his own strength before he'd pushed his favorite teacher out of the way.

She'd just been trying to comfort him after the other kids had made him fall.

Embarrassed more than hurt, he'd started to cry. The worst thing for an 11-year-old boy to do in front of his peers.

The laughter and hysterical cheers had caught Mrs. Adam's attention.

She'd run over, pushing through the crowd of kids, worked up into a near rabid mood at the sight of the giant child sitting on the playground, blubbering and wailing.

"Kurt! Let me help you up," She'd said as he flung his arms out in a blind rage.

Mrs. Adam's small frame went flying.

She thought, What a tremendous lot I have failed to think through! Yet I always thought I thought through things so well! just before she landed with a painful thud and heard the sound of her arm breaking beneath her.

It was just a small fracture, but no matter. The kids and adults alike feared Kurt after that. It didn't matter how sorry he was or that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone. The kids cowered, the adults turned away every time he came near.

If he tried to help someone who had fallen or dropped something, they'd started screaming and crying even as he bent down to help.

Soon Kurt learned that it was better to keep to himself, to be alone. That way no one would be scared.

The only person who wasn't afraid of Kurt was his mother. Even his dad had seemed to shrink away from him after he grew so big.

His mother was his safe place, his hero. The one person who didn't shy away when he came near.

Her arms didn't even begin to reach around him anymore, but she still always tried to comfort him with a hug.

Sometimes she just patted his arm and ran her fingers through his tangled unruly hair that never wanted to behave.

"Kurt, my big boy, someday, sometime there will be a friend for you, I promise. There is someone out there just for you, you'll see."

That was what kept Kurt going.

So what if there were no friends in his small town? His mother told him that there was hope and so he had hope. He believed in his mother more than anything in the world and so he kept going.

He went to school every day, going out of his way to be as invisible as a giant boy can be. He did his lessons, he sat in the corner of the playground during recess and he was extra careful never to scare anyone on purpose.

His life was going along well enough for a while.

He had his mother's love and affection.

He had hopes that his true love, his friend would come along someday, just like she said, he just had to be patient.
Still, it was rough being all alone during those years.

His birthday parties were small, sad little affairs, with only his mother and his father in attendance.

He had a nice homemade birthday cake on it every year, made especially for him by his mother.

They'd sit at this worn little table in their house and he'd blow out his candles.

11-12-13-14

Then came the year he turned fifteen.

He hadn't grown much, not since that growth spurt at eleven, but now he was getting thicker, stronger. He was turning into a man.

His father started to drink and that was a recipe for disaster. There is nothing quite like a drunk man who feels like he doesn't quite measure up to bring chaos into the world.

It was the night of his fifteenth birthday when his father came home in a mood.

His mother smelled the alcohol on his breath as soon as he stumbled through the door, reeking of whiskey and cigarettes.

"Honey, tell me you didn't drink again. Not today of all days! It's Kurt's birthday!" She'd tried to take his arm, to steer him into the bedroom so he could get cleaned up and gather his wits, but his father wasn't having any of it.
He yanked his arm away, yelling.

"Damn it, woman! Leave me alone!" He's slurred, stumbling even as he pushed her away.

She fell against the doorframe, crying out as her head hit the wood.

Kurt was there in an instant.

"MAMA!" He bellowed.

He turned on his father in a rage, his vision blinded by the fury coursing through his veins.

"Kurt! No!" His mother's voice didn't even begin to penetrate the darkness that fell upon him.

He lashed out, swinging with his giant fists, not caring or noticing where they were landing.

A scream broke through even as he felt the blood splashing on his face.

He stumbled back, blinking away the darkness, his big meaty hand wiping the warm liquid from his face.

There in front of him was his father, lying on the floor, passed out cold.

His mother's lifeless broken body lying across him, protecting his life, even as she lost her own. He picked her up then, her still warm body curled in his huge arms like an infant.

"It'll be okay, mama. I'll keep you safe. I'm your big boy."

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weekend freewriteThis is from @mariannewest and the