The armoured hearts

The poverty of hearts

Porchay wasn't the one he should have been but he also only could be the one life pushed him to create. He was kind, shy, quiet, easily triggered, respectful and he became a thief, violent if needed, talkative to save his life, and full of sadness. His joy got smashed the day his brother disappeared. He got caught to make them survive, Porchay was meant to die, but he couldn't accept Porsche's destiny. His dear brother would be dead, the day he would have proof of it, and for him to live through his ghost, he had to merge their personality and to learn, alone, from what he saw, how Porsche did it. How he could save them for so many years, death lurking at him, always, at each corner.

Poor was the name, the word, the shame. Most people wouldn't understand what it meant to live from nothing and how in this past time, it was easier to just steal everything than try to find a job, and even if the honest soul was trying, honesty was never cherished. Porchay did it, he found some places he could go to survive but he was trapped each time. Somes weren't paying him, somes wanted to make him a slave without clearly stipulating it. He did his best, exhausted himself, his hope crushed and his heart losing hope, until he found that what Porsche was doing was never legal. 

He just lied to his little brother to not make him worry, but the reality was more tragic than what he could imagine: Porsche was being a menace to society, for all types of works, except murders. He was too good to be arrested, and too clever to be recognized, able finally to just come home with a small amount of food. Everything wasn't about trying to have a better life, it was about having one. Porsche and Porchay were skinny, it wasn't a choice, they were poor, it wasn't a choice, they were alone, it wasn't a choice, but they had each other and also the need to love each other enough to always feel out of groceries but never of love. It could also save life, to love.

It didn't last. It couldn't in a logical way, the danger became bigger, the law thicker and Porsche got caught. Or at least it was what Porchay thought because he had no idea what happened. His brother just never came back home. Never. He waited for three, four days, without panicking. Believing, Porsche was his superhero. Then, he cried, for three or four more days, helpless, starving, and mentally dying. And then, he stood up as he could. He made the promise to just find back his brother and to survive until that moment. It was his dream, his goal, but also his way to just cope with the idea that he was alone. 

If someone was waiting for him, he wouldn't be alone. The trembling truth was that Porchay always waited for Porsche to come back, to take care of him. Now, he wanted to trust that his brother was waiting for the same from him. Porsche was surely just alive and waiting for Porchay to prove to him that he was as great as he was.

One thing the boy missed was having a home. He didn't have one anymore, he couldn't because he wasn't as good as Porsche. He went against all his brother wished him to never become. He pushed his limits, he just became what would never represent his heart because he needed to breathe. And anyone would just want to breathe, but no one would easily recognize this : one breath could cost you to lose it if you weren't born in a golden place. 

No one was equal, it was obvious, but no one really wanted it to be equal. The rich wanted to stay rich and the poor wanted to be richer than the rich. And the circle of despair was just existing, even if everyone would want it to end, if everyone had a heart big enough to recognize how unfair it was, needing to put your life in danger to just keep it awake.

Porchay was known. Known because he wasn't good enough to hide. Known because he wasn't sneaky enough to not be seen. He was clumsy and easily frightened, still now, and his everydays were just about running from the ones he took things from, things they wouldn't need because he wasn't bad. Porchay always calculated what to do. He didn't want to just put more people in misery. Everything was thought of beforehand, even if no one would want to listen about it, a thief was a thief, and a thief defender might be a thief in disguise, or at least, it was what people would think.

The boy was satisfied with the way he was doing it, even if he secretly hated to do it. But, sincerely now, he doubted even being able to get out of that place alive. He began to be terrified, looking at this long haired man, who seemed to not understand anything well, because he wasn't answering. His eyes were sauvage, so sauvage, it was scarring him and he still didn't know if their conversation, if he could think about it like this, was clear for him.

Porchay saw that pretty but looking abandoned house in the middle of the forest he was running in, escaping from some rich people who had more than a knife to stop him. He hated those guns, the boy really missed the time where it was just him and swords, or anything which could cut, now it was big bullets, and one just let out some blood from his arm. It was only a scratch but it hurt enough for him to hurry, run and run. To not see them anymore but still be scared and find that place. He didn't even know where he was, but this house looked perfect to him. 

Until he went inside, looked around and turned around to face this man. This man looked like coming from hunting, which was really old school, blood on some parts of his skin and dead animals in his hands. He stared at the boy, clueless, and then at the doe in one of his hands. And then at Porchay whose eyes were exactly the same, his eyes but not his body, but it looked exactly the same. He was so confused just moving from one to another, as if he never had seen another human on earth.

The boy left the animals on the ground, and turned his body totally towards Porchay, who couldn't move nor talk. He was petrified. He was just so terrified by this hunter.He came closer and closer, as if he wanted to hunt him down, to not scare him by walking slower, and slower, until Porchay was just pushed against the wall. Not able to run anywhere, just his lungs cut and his voice teared apart by his fear. The boy had something hypnotizing in his eyes, something that wasn't human at all, but not animal either. His long hair was messy and it just gave him the attitude of a secluded man who even forgot that he was one. The blood dripping from his skin was just making a mess around him and yet he was so focused on Porchay that the boy began to pee on himself. He never had been this scared for his whole life.

The man was now some centimeters away and all Porchay could whisper was : " I am not...a doe..."

His view became black. He couldn't see anything anymore, he didn't even understand what happened but his body collapsed. He let himself down, his fear took the lead and the other boy looked even more confused, the knife in his hand falling on the ground, himself sitting because there was no danger anymore, but looking at this thing deeply.

He thought in his head, quietly : " Does, can't talk...that thing is really not one."