Damn them all to hell!"
A few people turned to stare at the little boy cursing. It was a strange sight, to see such a cute little boy cuss like so, but not unknown. There were, after all, many odd people out and about. The young boy pouted. How dare those bullies beat him like so! One day, he would be some high Lord or official and he would make them pay. Damn them for beating him AND taking his dolls. They were his only friends, and the other boys knew it. He kicked a rock and watched it bounce into the distance, why was it so wrong to be different from other boys?
The evening sun had fallen lower into the sky. He was late, but he didn't really care. He doubted that his parents would give a rat's ass about his problems, they were to busy trying to stay in the not poor list. It took both of them to stay away from poverty, and the dolls that he had gotten were gifts from aunts and uncles or ones that he had found. He sighed, life was tougher for him then it was for most other boys or girls his age. Other boys constantly beat him, and girls thought he was creepy.
What could he do if he liked dolls and could sew? The boy heard running from behind him and even as he turned to look he already knew what was going to happen. All of a sudden he felt hands pushing him forward. He closed his eyes and tried to protect his head with his arms. It was painful, but no more then usual. He glanced up to see the faint shapes of the boys that had pushed him turn the corner. Damn them all the hell! If only he wasn't such a nice guy, but he had made a promise on his sister's grave that he would not use magic to hurt others. Moving into a sitting position, the boy sighed.
He was about to stand and continue his trek home when he noticed a faint gleam on the ground. The sun was reflecting off something. Curious, the young boy took a few steps closer and leaned in to see what it was. His eyes widened and a cry of joy erupted from his mouth. It was a doll! He carefully, with soft hands and using more care than anything before it, he lifted it up. It was a beautiful doll, dirtied, old, and a bit beaten, but a doll nonetheless. He smiled at the doll and retrieved a small brush from his pocket and brushed her, the doll's, hair as he walked home till it shined. When he could, he would steal some money from his parents and buy her some new clothes. Jess smiled wide and brushed her off lightly with a handkerchief, cleaning the face with precision. This doll would be treated like a queen.