Prologue

Rain was a magical phenomena, really. It washed away all the dirt and grime and it left room for new things to grow and be born. However, it also made it near impossible to go outside and, most of the time, you were forced to watch the rain wash the bad things away. Sometimes, it was a calming process, whereas, other times, it was hellish. Sometimes, the rain cleansed gently, with soft winds and lightly falling droplets. They tenderly coaxed the bad things to go away or to let them be cleaned with the promise of better. With the promise of a rainbow. Sometimes, the rain was harsh and cold- cruel even!- and you are helpless to stop the inevitable changes. The menacing winds would yank out plants with such a ferocity, pulling out even the deepest roots.

A small, petite boy, with the stature of a two or three year old, cradled his bleeding and brunt hand gently to his chest. Fat, salty tears fell out of his emerald eyes as he wailed loudly in his cold, little cupboard. The only source of light came from the hallway outside his prison and haven, filtering in through the vent in the door. The light seemed to avoid him, however, as he cried and screamed, allowing years of pent up negative emotions out. It seemed as if the light didn’t want to touch something as tainted and worthless as him, or perhaps, it was letting him mourn for himself with dignity. In the dark, where you can’t see; you can’t see the most ugly things. The little boy’s throat was already raw and sore, but he kept crying. No one came rushing in, wondering what a little boy was doing in the cupboard under the stairs. No one came to tend to his injured hand. No one was home. No one cared about the poor little boy.

Finally, after a long time, the yells subsided, yet the tears continued to fall. They fell down his already tear stricken cheeks. He ran his uninjured hand through his messy, black hair as he stared at his hurt hand. It was red, with patches of blackened flesh, and spots of blood. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t right. However, it was his punishment. The boy knew that if he did something bad, then he was to be punished.

Earlier, while he was watching over the food, he had accidentally let the food get burnt. He was scared when the scent of charred food reached him. The Big People who had taken him in were going to be angry, but he was most frightened by the Big Man. He had come home from work earlier smelling of that foul smell that made bile rise in his little throat and a bottle in his hand. The boy didn’t know what it was, but he had quickly learned to be frightened when the Big Man drank it.

The boy was quick to try to escape into his little sanctuary, his cupboard, but the Big Man was too fast. Quickly, he grabbed the boy by his hair, leading him harshly into the kitchen again, and pressing his hand onto the open flame on the stove. The boy screamed and cried and almost vomited over himself at the smell of brunt flesh, but the Big Man only pressed harder. Finally, after what felt like hours, but really couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, the Big Man threw him in his cupboard. While he cried, he heard the Big Woman and Big Man argue before a door slammed and only the heavy thuds of the Big Man were heard. Those, too, disappeared after a while behind the slamming of the front door.

Then the dam of emotions had been broken in the small boy.

The small boy stood up in his small cupboard. All had been silent for a while, despite his own wails. Slowly, he tried opening his cupboard and inwardly let out a relieved sigh when it opened.

He knew what he had to do.

He needed to escape this bad place. Somehow, his childish mind had been able to comprehend that the bad things in the house were only going to get worse if he stayed.

As quickly as his injuries would allow, he gathered an extra shirt, three pounds he had discovered at school a while ago, and a small book into his small rucksack. He quietly snuck out of his cupboard and out of the house, tears still silently streaming down his pale cheeks.

As he walked out of Privet Drive, not looking back, the harsh rain that had been howling earlier dwindled to a mist.

A wind came and blew all the debris off the floor, leaving no evidence of the past storm.