That had been a few years before the people had come for Uriel after his mother had passed, no one could have known she would have died so young, no one could have predicted that already- young Uriel was to take the path of a young and painfully lonely death at the hands of many, yet with no one's touch at all.
Those hard eyes and silence was usually what he was met with. They talked about him as if he weren't that. And it only got worse, those hard eyes were constantly replaced with more hard eyes, and then mean eyes. Mean hands and terrible words. He was put into a boys' home then, into other people's homes. It never lasted, considering Uriel always was somehow 'bad'.
One day, in a bus station he sat on one of the hard benches and saw snow. He had only seen it briefly in some of the homes he had been placed in, but he was far from home or anywhere he had been. And usually the excitable boy would have enjoyed seeing the flurries. He wanted to look over and point to tell Mrs. Myrtle, dark eyes shined with amazement. But then he remembered Mrs. Myrtle wasn't there. She had not been there in a few years at this point.
The habbit had yet to die, the woman had cared for he and his mother most of his life. So Uriel's hand dropped, voice kept within his chest as the light resided and waited for yet another set of mean eyes. Who he was supposed to be thankful for even considering taking him in because he was different. Who got to hurt him with means hands. Until he was moved to somewhere else because he was bad. They were never wrong, he was always bad, he was always the problem.
Everything that happened was always his fault.