Pour l’histoire du petit Antoine, il avait réuss
Pour l’histoire du petit Antoine, il avait réussi à échapper aux mains de son agresseur. Antoine pensa que cet homme avait voulu seulement lui faire peur.
The alleyway stank of damp earth and rotting garbage. Antoine, a skinny boy of ten, squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had escaped, but the terror still clung to him, a cold, wet blanket.
The man, a shadow in the fading light, had grabbed him, his voice a low growl in the silence. Antoine remembered the fear that had choked him, the frantic struggle, the taste of his own fear in his mouth. But then, the man had released him, a cruel laugh echoing in the alley.
“Just a little scare,” the man had said, his eyes glinting in the shadows. “Don’t tell anyone, little bird.”
He had run, his legs pumping, the laughter chasing him through the maze of alleys. Now, finally, he had reached the safety of his street, the familiar glow of his home beckoning him.
But the fear wouldn’t let go. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow cast by the streetlamp, sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t tell anyone. He was a coward. He hadn’t been brave enough to fight back.
He had a mother, a woman with eyes as gentle as the moon. He thought of her gentle hands, her warm embrace, and his throat constricted. How could he tell her? How could he face the terror in her eyes?
His father was a blacksmith, a giant of a man with calloused hands that spoke of hard work. But his father was often gone, and when he was home, his face was etched with worry, his hands calloused and rough.
The thought of telling him filled Antoine with a new kind of fear. His father was fierce, protective. He wouldn’t hesitate to hunt down the man, and Antoine was afraid of the violence that might follow.
He sat on the edge of his bed, the silence pressing down on him. He knew he couldn’t keep this secret. It would eat him alive, grow into a monstrous fear that would consume him.
But how could he tell them? The words wouldn’t come. He was a bird caught in a cage, his wings clipped, his song silenced. He was a small boy, trapped in a world too big, too scary.
He closed his eyes, tears stinging his cheeks. He thought of the man, his face a mask of malice, and a tiny spark of defiance ignited in his chest. He wouldn’t let fear control him. He would find a way to tell them, to protect himself, to protect his family.
He would find his voice, his strength. And he would tell them his story, his own small tale of terror, of courage, and of resilience. The story of a boy who had faced his fear and found the strength to fight back, to find his voice in the darkness.
