Found Dribble
So, I found this while cleaning. I've actually restarted this story about a dozen times. It was based off of an RP that I did years ago, but I could never quite get it written out into story form, you know? Here's another attempt at the start.
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Officer Rogers held his hands folded in front of him, watching as each of the few people gathered step forward and place their blue roses on the small coffin. He felt a small nudge from the officer beside him and looked up at his partner, who nodded towards a tree some twenty paces away.
Beneath the tree stood a smallish boy. He was dressed in a pair of torn jeans and a too-big long-sleeved t-shirt. Most of his face was obscured by the shadows produced by the tree and a jeep cap that was covering longish brown hair.
Rogers nodded a little and slipped around the back of the taller officer, making his was towards the tree.
"I never knew his name was Isaac," the boy said when the officer was close enough. "But non of us really knew much about each other."
Rogers saw now that the boy's jaw was a pale greenish black and blue. A deep scar ran from the boy's neck, diagonal over his collarbone and towards his hear. "You were at the old Tucker place?"
The boy gave a small nod. "Left a little before you got there."
"You know the boy that killed Grant Tucker, then?"
A small smile formed on the young man's face. "That would be Ice."
"Ice?"
The small funeral was disbursing.
"If you don't mind, before I answer any more questions, I'd like to say goodbye. Blue was a good friend of mine."
"Of course."
With a bit of effort, the brunette pushed himself away from the tree and limped slowly towards the casket. The priest, seeing the boy coming, held off lowering it for the moment.
The other officer joined Rogers at his side.
"Who is he?" Officer Phillips asked.
"One of the kids who got out before we got there."
"Is he our killer?"
"I don't think so. But he knows him. Same story as the others--the ever-elusive Ice."
"Honestly," Phillips said with a slightly exasperated sigh, "What's with the nicknames? Blue? Ice? Iron? They don't make sense."
"They do, actually," the boy said as he limped closer. "They are personality traits. Blue, because he was easily depressed; Iron because of his temper-though he could be just as guilty as Mr. Tucker--dude tortured the little ones..."
"And Ice?"
The younger man grinned again. "Isn't it obvious? Mr. Tucker could do anything-say anything-and it never touched Ice. Didn't even bat an eye. I think it made Old Tuck really angry... and it really impressed him at the same time."
"What is your name?" Rogers asked.
The boy paused. "Look, I'll strike you a deal. I'll tell you my first name and everything I know about Ice and what happened, but afterwards, I walk away. No children's services, no looking for my parents... Deal?"
The officers exchanged looks. Phillips scrutinized what he could see of the boy, who had yet to lift his face up. "How old are you?"
"Nearly seventeen."
"How near?"
"With all due respect, sir, I spent the last five years in that house, and the two before that on the street. I haven't celebrated in a long, long time. Closest I remember is late summer, early fall."
