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Fan Fiction by Kati K - Powder...

A/N: Just a little one-shot that popped into my head while watching the movie again last night. It doesn't really have a plot, but what good one-shot really needs one. Now back to finish my BDS fics for those of you who are following those fun-fests ;)

Dedicated to my late pet cockatiel Harley Quinn. She died literally during the writing of this piece, trying to lay an egg and bring another cute little life into this world. I'm going to go mope now…

Eight-year-old Abigail Sanders ran down the dirt road, trying to get away from the group of boys that were chasing her. They were calling her names and throwing rocks at her. She tried to keep from crying as she ran, but the tears poured down her cheeks anyway. All the kids at school were mean to her, just because she was born with a hare-lip. Some of the girls would make fun of her behind her back, but the boys were just plain cruel about it. So, she ran harder, hoping to outrun them to some place safe. The first house she came to was the Reed farm. Abigail had been there with her mother once or twice to visit Mrs. Reed before she died. She ran up the pathway and onto the porch, the boys calling after her from the road.

"That's right, Bunny," one of the boys called. "Go run and hide like a scared little girl."

"Go away, Johnny Tompkins," she screamed back. "Take your mean old friends and leave me alone."

"Come one guys," Johnny said to the group, not willing to follow Abigail up to the Reed's porch. "My dad's got some bottlerockets hidden in the garage. We can go fire them off."

"What about Bunny," another little boy asked.

"Aw, she ain't no fun to chase," Johnny answered, leading the boys away.

Abigail cowered behind one of the porch beams, watching the boys walk back the way they had come. She was tired from running and very thirsty. Once the group was out of sight, she stood and walked cautiously over to the door. Knocking gently, she hoped someone would answer. When no answer came, she reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked and opened easily.

"Hello," she called. "Mr. Reed? It's me, Abigail."

There was no response as she stepped inside. The whole place was pretty dark, despite the fact that it was bright outside. The streaks of light that peaked through the blinds made falling dust glow. She closed the door behind her, walking further into the house. Mr. Reed must have still been out in the fields working, but Abigail figured he wouldn't mind if she just took a quick glass of water.

Abigail walked quietly toward the kitchen. She had been in there once with Mrs. Reed when she had been over. The older woman had invited her in to give her a cookie, with that sweet grandmotherly smile she had. Sometimes, Abigail had wished Mrs. Reed had been her grandmother. Her own grandparents didn't like her much, always whispering that she would be such a lovely little girl were it not for her "unfortunate difigurement." Abigail knew they had meant her hare-lip, and that they had meant she was ugly.

She glanced around the kitchen when she got there. The wooden doorway that led to the basement was open. Abigail peaked down the steps for a second, noticing a pile of boos near the bottom. She didn't want to be too nosey, so she turned back to the kitchen sink. Standing on her tiptoes, she opened a cabinet above the counter. There were a few glasses sitting upside down on the bottom shelf. She leaned up, trying to grab one, but her fingers just barely brushed it.

Frowning, Abigail stepped closer to the counter, stretching as much as she could. She was able to touch the glass just enough to spin it closer. The rim started to slide over the edge of the shelf, and with a smile she went to grab it. But it slipped out of her fingers and landed on the counter, shattering loudly.

"Oh, no," she whispered, bending down to start picking up the pieces.

Abigail got a few of the larger chunks in her hand, and was reaching for another when she stuck her thumb on a jagged edge. She gave a little grunt as blood started to well from the cut. Bringing it to her lips, she licked the wound to make the pain go away.

"Grandpa, did you drop something?"

Startled, Abigail looked up, nearly falling backwards onto the floor with fear. An older boy was standing on the top step of the basement stairs, looking at her. She had never seen him before, because she would have remembered. He was tall and skinny, with no hair and skin so white it made her think of snow. And his eyes were the strangest she'd ever seen. Worried she would be in trouble, she started to gather all the glass pieces up again.

"I'm sorry," she pleaded nervously. "I didn't mean to break the glass. It's just that I was running away from the Johnny Tompkins and his friends and this was the first house I came to. They left but I was thirsty and Mrs. Reed had always been so nice. It didn't think anyone was home and I just really wanted a drink of water ‘cause I was so thirsty ‘cause I ran all the way from school…"

Her voice had been going a mile a minute, the way nervous children tend to do. She stopped to take a breath and looked up at the boy again. He was smiling softly, like he found it all very funny.

"It's okay," he assured in a gentle voice, walking over to help her pick up the glass. He noticed the cut on her thumb. "Did you cut yourself on the glass?"
She nodded slightly, trying not to stare at him. "I wanted to clean up the mess I made."

He picked up the shards of glass and dropped them into the trashcan. He opened a drawer and pulled out a box of bandaids. Abigail watched him pull out one of the bandages and start to open it. Then, he returned to the floor beside her. "Here, let me see it."

She looked up at his eyes, becoming very still. The boy tilted his head a little and said softly "I promise I won't hurt you."

Abigail blinked and held her hand out to him. He smiled like she had given him a gift. Taking her thumb gently, he wrapped the bandage around it. She smiled back appreciatively when he was finished.

"Oh, I know now," she said triumphantly. When he gave her a confused look, her smile brightened. "You're like my cousin's goat. They named him Ghost because he's… he's albino."

The boy looked a little shocked, maybe even a little embarassed as he smiled gently again. "How old are you?"

"I'm eight," Abigail replied happily. "But I'll be nine in a few months."

"I think most eight year olds don't know a word like albino," he said, looking very shy.

Abigail smiled again. "I read a lot of books. You can learn a lot of things from books."

"That's true," he replied.

"How old are you," she asked, watching his face expectantly.

"Fifteen," he answered, glancing up at her with another soft smile.

She watched him quietly for a second, completely enthralled with the way he looked and acted. "You're the same age as my cousin Georgie, but you don't act like him."

He stood up and grabbed a glass from the same cabinet she had found them. "Really? How does he act?"

"He's really mean," Abigail informed, standing as well. "My aunt says all boys are mean when they're that age. But you're not mean. You're really nice."

"Thanks," he replied gently, filling the glass with water and handing it to her. She giggled a little, having forgotten she was thirsty in the first place.

"What's your name," she asked after taking a drink of water.

"Powder," he answered quietly, looking shy again.

"Powder," she laughed. "That's not a real name."

"That's what my grandparents call me," Powder said, smiling down at her. "It's my nickname."

"Because you're so white," Abigail ventured.

Powder nodded and she looked at her glass, a little sad. "The kids at school call me Bunny. But they do it to be mean."

"Why do they call you Bunny," he asked, giving her a concerned look.

"My hare-lip," she answered softly. "That's why the boys chased me here. They like to make fun of me. Everyone thinks I'm ugly and weird."

"I don't," he assured with a gentle smile.

Abigail looked up at him, setting her glass on the counter. "Do people make fun of you at school?"

"I don't go to school," Powder replied. "I read books and my grandma taught me before she died."

Abigail's eyes widened. "Was Mrs. Reed your grandma?"

Powder nodded slowly and it made Abigail feel sad. "She was really nice to me and I was sad when she died, too."

He pulled out another glass and filled it with water to take a drink. Abigail felt a little sad at the way he looked. She tugged on his shirt sleeve a little until he looked down at her.

Looking shyly at her feet, she said "Um, I read this book one time, and it said when you die, you don't leave. You just, kinda, become part of everything. Like when you spill water and it goes everywhere."

He tilted his head as she continued. "When my pet bird Harley died, I was really sad. But then I remembered that he was a part of me, and I wasn't so sad any more."

"You're a very smart eight-year-old," he smiled at her.

"No one likes to play with me much," she shrugged. "So I read books. They don't make fun of you for looking different."

"I know," he nodded smiling.

Abigail looked up at him for a few more seconds before she asked "Where's you're grandpa?"

"He's still out in the fields," Powder answered. "I'd be helping him, but the sun hurts my eyes."

She giggled a little. "When Ghost goes outside, Georgie puts him in a big floppy hat. He looks so cute like that. Don't you have a big floppy hat to wear?"

"No," he smiled. "But I do have sunglasses for when I go out."

Abigail nodded, then looked up at the clock above the sink. "Oh, no. I have to go before I'm late for dinner."

She started to run for the door, but stopped and turned back. "Powder, what's your real name?"

He smiled at her. "It's Jeremy."

"My real name's Abigail Sanders," she said sweetly. "If those boys chase me again, can I come back here?"

He nodded. "As long as you promise not to tell anyone I'm here."

"I promise," she assured, then without warning, she ran up and hugged him tightly. "Thank you for being so nice, Jeremy. People aren't very nice to me."

"Thank you for not being afraid of me," he replied, hugging her back.

Abigail pulled away, smiling up at him when she realized the hair on her arms was standing on end, like when she would run a balloon over her skin. She looked up and saw that he was staring out the window. He glanced down at her with his soft smile. "Be careful walking home, Abigail. It's going to storm."

Her face lit up with glee. "I love it when it storms. The lightening is so pretty."

She walked away toward the front door, stopping to turn back and wave at the boy still standing in the kitchen. "Bye Jeremy. I'll come back and see you soon."

He waved back until she had closed the door behind her. Abigail saw that the sky had gotten a little cloudier than before. She was halfway home before it started to rain on her. Hearing thunder, she turned in slow circles to see the lightening. There was a particularly close bolt, and she counted until she heard the thunder start to roll. To her surprise, it was only one or two miles, about the same distance back to Jeremy's house.