punishement

[voldemort]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height: 350px; background-image: url(http://i51.tinypic.com/8wcemt.png); -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius: px px px px; border: px solid #ffffff;] The sheets were rough, thin and had been eaten away by the moths over the years, but the orphanage could hardly afford to purchase new bedding. They were living off of slop and grime anyways. It was not ideal for the raising of a child, and the signs were obvious. The children were either small, shy and insecure or bullies, picking on those who developed into the quiet ones. The workers at the orphanage never cared much, though they would put a stop to a fight if it got past a punch to the arm. It would seem as though, with their few numbers, they were much more worried about getting to most for the least, letting the feuds between the children become what they may. It would seem that sort of day had come upon them once again. The weather outside was a mixture of wind, rain and sleet. It wouldn’t be long before the ground was covered in a fresh layer of snow, as white and clean as a new born. Of course, Tom wouldn’t mind at all. It was just another situation to test his odd abilities. He had only recently discovered what he could do, never with the snow around him. It wouldn’t be long, he would imagine, before he could build snow beasts to scare the children. The woman who took care of the children would never see or understand Tom’s abilities, as Tom was far too cleaver to let them even glimpse it. The children would complain, but the old women would never believe. It would seem that happened quite a lot. Tom stood outside, a thin jacket covering his arms, hardly protecting him from the cold. However, that was hardly his worst problem. He was running, as quickly as his short, thin legs could move. He was circling the building, jumping through the puddles, doing his best to stay out of the arms of the larger boys. They did not enjoy Tom’s abilities, and therefore saw it their right to punish him for using them. Tom could not have that, for he was punished even further by the old ladies for being bruised. Not to mention, he didn’t enjoy being punched or kicked, and certainly not hit with sticks. Lying on his front side from the lashes and the stinging was hardly how he wanted to spend his time. The cold hardly affected him as he turned the corner, his arms pumping, attempting to pick up speed. Of course they were too dumb to simply stop running and wait for him to lap the building and catch him there. They simply kept running after him, around and around. They would time much more quickly the little Riddle, as they were larger in stature and needed more energy and tired far more quickly. As he pushed his way, yet again, through a thin alley, a thorn snagged at his jacket, a whole ripping on the sleeve. He grabbed at the fabric, pulling and tearing, but the thorns would not let go of his jacket. He could hear footstep getting closer and closer, soon echoing through the thin alley was stood between the orphanage and another building. As they turned the corner, Tom stopped for a moment before contorting and twisting and finally slipping free from his jacket. As the cold wind bit at his pale skin, he turned and proceeded on his route, hoping the boys would soon get bored of their game. It was generally how it happened. He’d lost his only jacket, and would have to modify yet another sheet. Or, he could simply steal an article of clothing from one of the other orphans. He could potentially steal something from a store, something he very rarely did, afraid of what would happen if one of the women found the stolen possession in his room. As he thought the details over, he slowed his pace, soon at a walk. He cold nipped at him, but he hardly let it bother him. Before long, however, he found that his assailants were far from bored. Unfortunately, Tom found he was going numb from the toes up. He would have to take refuge in his room, something that always seemed to end in at least a few bruises, if not a bloody nose or a black eye. They always seemed to break through the door. Tom started at a run again, rounding the corner and heading for the door. However, the larger boys had secured the area, and there would hardly be a way to get in. He turned, looking up and around. If he stayed out any longer, he would start turning blue, something dangerous in most regards. He glanced up and around, but saw no way to get to his room with the current situation. He’d just have to wait. He silently snuck into the shadows of the orphanage, his eyes wide, keenly searching for anyone that might want to cause him harm. As he headed back for the thorn filled alley way, he heard shouting behind him. Spinning, he growled to himself as, yet again, the other boys started running after him. Tom didn’t know what fun it brought them to be out ran by a much smaller boy, but he supposed if something was stupid enough, anything could entertain it. He reentered the thorn, now snagging at his bare arms. Before long, prick of blood had appeared over the flesh. It hardly mattered, and he made his way to where his jacket was still stuck in the bushes. He tugged a little hardly, and it eventually pulled free. The small boy continued on his way, his jacket held between his arms as he pushed out through the thorns in towards the back of the orphanage. He ran through the narrow alley and stepped into the backyard, where a few play things were scattered here and there, now wet and collecting puddles. He made his way towards the farthest extent of the yard, ducking behind a slide that had fallen to the ground some time ago. He looked over his arms, lined and dotted with his own blood. Throwing his jacket onto the driest ground he could find, he reached into a small puddle made within the upturned slide. He ran the freezing water over his arms, washing away the streaks and botches of blood. Just as he was about to reach for his jacket, a hand shot out and curled in his hair. Before Tom could utter a word, he was yanked up and away from the slide, being thrown several feet from where he had previously been. Gasping as his face collided with the wet dirt, he pushed himself from the ground, up on his feet in a matter of moment. He was against a stone wall and a rather high, rotting fence. Blocking him from escape were three large boys and one small girl. She fit in with their group, though she never set a hand on anyone. She was the brains behind the operation. And she very much disliked Tom. ”Poor Tom, always getting beated up and getting tossed around, don’t you want to cry now?” she mocked, the older boys laughing. Though he was a cornered, sad, wet looking child, he wasn’t about to cry and beg for his dead mother. Rather, just the opposite. ”Right Amy, because I’ll allow you the satisfaction,” he hissed back. Puffing out his chest, he did his best to look as strong as he could, his eyes narrowing, their darkness reflecting the bully’s ugly faces. It would seem timing was on his side, and at that very moment the rain started falling, streaking out of the sky like pins, darting down and stinging any unprotected skin. It hurt, but Tom took his opportunity. He couldn’t fend off his attackers like this, and so he would run. And he did. He aimed for the largest one, Amy screaming her dumb blond head off. ”Get him!” However, he was already past them, having slid right under the dumbest/largest one’s legs and continuing to run. He would find his jacket later, hardly caring for it at the moment. He wanted to get out of this rain, wanted to get out of such a situation. He’d couldn’t four there, though there was usually six. He imagined they would be waiting for him somewhere, but he hardly imagined they would catch him. They did. ”Let me go you idiots!” he screamed as he was drug back to the others. Being held up by his arms by two of the largest, it wasn’t long before he’d been given several punches to his stomach and chest, and a few to his face. Kicking also occurred, though it was usually someone behind him, aiming for the back of his knees and his back. He struggled for as long as he could, but his energy left his much faster than it would have it he’d been running. Soon enough, laughing and giggling, the all left. Though, not before Amy leaned down and smiled her biggest, happiest smile. ”Poor Tommy. Don’t have a mommy or a daddy, just like the rest of us. But he doesn’t have friends either,” she smiled, patting him on the head as he lay on the ground, the cold seeping into his body. ”Maybe you should stop acting so much betterer than us, and we’d be more nicer,” she giggled, her blond curls, though messy, bouncing as she walked away. Mangled and beaten, his eyes closed and hardly breathing, Tom let his rage grow. He wouldn’t let this happen for much longer. He would show them what it meant to be truly weak, and he’d show them what it truly meant to be powerful. Not able to hold someone and punch him, so hard, so many times, but rather rendering them useless without any physical restraint, torturing them to the brink of mental oblivion. From somewhere behind him, he heard a shuffling of feet, proceeded by a quick shuffle and an explosion of spine from Tom’s back, having received a swift kick to the spine. He heard a familiar voice, one of the boys that hadn’t been present earlier, due to his being sent to his room for disobeying the old women. The voice was laughing in the most cruel of ways, a humiliating thing. Tom woke some hours later, his dark eyes wide as he tested his arms, his legs, his breathing. Everything hurt, as it often did. Perhaps the beating he had received the day earlier had been the worst of his life, it hardly mattered. He would be giving out punishment very soon, to the two of whom he loathed more than any other. Though pulling himself from the bed was nearly as brutal as the initial beating itself, he managed it before too long. Having been stripped over his shirt and fitted into a pair of thin bottoms by one of the old women, he was able to see the bruises that covered his body. Black, purples, yellow, green and blue, and nearly every other color of the rainbow, he looked away disgusted. He wasn’t fond of being weak, of being used as a punching bag, much less for entertainment, and he had to end it immediately. He hardly cared to look at his face in the mirror as he passed, though from his peripheral vision he noticed a black eye and a swollen cheek. Time would heal those wounds, though it would take more than time to end the humiliation that burned at Tom as if it were a sunburn, the heat still as scorching as it had been the day before. A shirt was pulled over his thin, pale frame and he was quickly out of his room, not caring to change out of the thin bottoms he currently wore. He would find Amy and Dennis, and before long, they would be in much more pain than he. It would seem he hadn’t slept for too long, his body tired and weak. He walked with a pronounced limp, but he managed to make it to the dinner table just as their breakfast was being served. Meager, it would fill many bellies. He didn’t touch the slop presented before him. The table was oddly quiet, children having been scolded for causing such damage to Tom, though not nearly as horribly as they should have been. All of them, especially the old women, were surprised to see him at the table. The only person at the table not astounded was the victim himself, his head bowed though his eyes wide opening, planning, calculating. ”I want to speak with Amy and Dennis,” he announced, standing. To the shock of many, the two got up, though confusion was painted on their faces. As Tom, slowly and painfully, left the bench they ate at, he strolled towards the entrance of the orphanage, pushing his way outside. The sun was hovering over, though blocked out by thin clouds that trailed like pulled cotton through the air. The air was cold on his skin, wearing no jacket, but he went forward anyways. The two followed, both utterly confused as to why their body was obeying commands they had not issued. It would seem as though something had invaded and taken over their actions, rendering their will power useless. It happened in a flash, and before either of them knew what had happened, they were submerged into darkness, though they feet continued to walk. A glint of dark eyes turned, and the two children stopped. ”Revenge is a sweet thing, if gone about in the right way,” Tom’s voice spoke, a stillness mixed with a calm that made both the children shiver. Waves crashed against stone outside of the cave, the enclosed stone resonating and turning into nearly a thunder clap as the waves rolled on, relentlessly beating against the stone outside. The air was damp, a wave of air rushing about that unsettled clothing, hair and minds. However, everything seemed to suddenly stop as the two willless orphans collapsed on the floor, screaming and twitching. It would seem an invisible force was shocking them, hurting them. It soon stopped as Tom stepped into a light where the others could see him. His face was held in such a way that hid his emotion, his eyes darker than normal, glinting and bright. ”Perhaps, you’ll learn.” Much more screaming occurred in that cave, though no ears would hear the plea for help, no answer comforting their pain. Tom Riddle stepped through the doors of the orphanage, his face blank, his eyes set in a satisfied way, though few would ever know why. Behind him followed two children, their faces pale and gaunt, their eyes clamped tight. When the old women questioned them, neither spoke, only looking at the ladies as though the world were about to fall from under them, as it had that day in the cave. As Tom sat in his room, skimming through the pages of his newest book, he heard it. A scraping of wood against wood as a window as opened, followed by a dull thud. As he slowly placed a small piece of paper between the pages, marking his place and gently setting his book on his pathetic bed, and stood. Still sore, he was getting better. He stepped towards his window and saw something that over joyed his soul. A small blond girl, lying face down on the ground, limbs strewn this way and that, most obviously broken. He could just make out the drape of a room billowing out into the word a few room down, the window wide open. Blood covered the now white snow, and the new born winter was turned to a place of death, of fear. Tom smiled, looking for just a moment longer before turning and sitting on his bed once more, opening his book again and continuing his reading.

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word count: 2658
things could be spelled wrong, minds corrupted and people running in fear. i am sorry for none.