PLAGUE

"They planted something different than they thought"

Chapter I

The playground at La Fiorita Kindergarten bustled with energy beneath a warm morning sun, its charm amplified by ancient olive trees casting dappled shadows over children’s games. Amid the laughter and running footsteps, clusters of children played by the sandpit and climbing frame, while others chased each other around the yard.

Sitting alone by the back fence was Pasha, a small, pale boy with platinum-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. Not the ocean blue that pickup artists mention as an old-fashioned metaphor, but something more like azurite: deep, watchful, aggressive, and, in one word: **sharp**.

This look made him stand out in the small Italian town, where everyone knew everyone else’s family history going back generations. Not only was Pasha a migrant kid with an anonymous, unguessable background, but he also had an intensity about him that unsettled some of the other kids—and, if he were honest, even a few of the teachers, especially when they asked about his hometown or family. What intimidated people was not his obnoxiousness; it was his silence—him barring all questions and, with a single gaze, making the asker feel ashamed. For a six-year-old, that’s a rare power. While his peers played in the sand or kicked balls around, he spent most of his time drawing strange symbols and diagrams in the dirt, lost in thought.

Pasha was scribbling away with a stick, deep in concentration, when he noticed a shadow stretching across his drawing. He looked up and found himself facing Leo, a blond boy who towered over him, a smug smile on his face. Behind Leo were his usual cronies, both looking like they couldn’t wait to back him up. Sometimes, clichés are too accurate: Leo’s trio looked like a "three little pigs" squad, featuring Leo, the chubby blond mini-mobster, John, the husky lackey, and Petro, the scheming little runt.

“Hey, weird kid,” Leo sneered, kicking dirt over Pasha’s drawing. “Why are you always by yourself, drawing those creepy pictures? Are you too good to play with us, or just too dumb? Or maybe… *retarded*?”

Pasha immediately sensed trouble, clenching the stick tightly in his small hand, his jaw tightening, though he kept quiet. By now, he’d learned that anything he said would only make things worse. At six years old, he already knew how the world saw him—too different, too intense, and somehow, *wrong*.

“He probably doesn’t even understand us,” Leo continued, his voice dripping with mockery. “Maybe he only speaks… I don’t know, *weirdo language*!”

John suddenly jumped in front of Pasha and gave him a rough shove. “I doubt he DOES speak at all… hey… has the rat eaten your tongue??”

Petro and Leo snickered.

Reacting to John’s aggressiveness, Pasha quickly took a step back, locking eyes with John in a steady stare. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but before he could decide, a voice rang out across the playground—sharp, unfiltered, and fearless.

“Hey! *Dirt-for-brains!*”

Mira, a petite girl with a tangle of dark hair and eyes blazing like coals, stomped across the playground, drawing every eye in the vicinity. Though small, Mira had a presence that felt much bigger than the other kids—a combination of daring and wit that made even the teachers pause.

Leo looked at her, surprised. “What do *you* want, Mira?”

She crossed her arms, stepping up close to him and forming a protective line in front of Pasha. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, huh? Oh, but wait, you’d have to find a hippopotamus, wouldn’t you? Or is that too hard for a boy who still eats glue when no one’s watching? Doesn’t that make it hard to pee? I bet your tummy makes those weird sounds all the time in class!”

The other kids around them stifled laughter as Leo’s face turned beet red. He clenched his fists, but Mira wasn’t finished.

“No… seriously,” she continued, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Do you know how gross that is? Glue! And don’t get me started on your other little habits…”

She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a stage whisper that somehow carried across the playground.

“Everyone knows you can’t even pee standing up without making a mess! Want details? Or should we just let the whole class laugh?”

Leo’s face twisted in anger and embarrassment, his followers shifting uncomfortably, clearly not wanting any part of this confrontation anymore.

Mira smirked. “And let’s not forget, you’re the one who bragged about doing 20 push-ups. We all saw you, and you cried faster than… oh wait, it’s happening *again.*”

Tears started to well in Leo’s eyes as he tried to blink them away, his lips quivering. His friends took a few steps back, abandoning him.

“I—I… Whatever! I don’t care!” he shouted, voice cracking as he turned and ran, tears streaming down his cheeks. The whole playground echoed with laughter as Leo disappeared into the school building, leaving Mira grinning triumphantly.

Pasha watched, stunned and a little in awe. No one had ever defended him before, especially not with that kind of fire. As the other kids drifted away, Mira turned back to him, grinning as she brushed off her hands like she’d just finished a job well done.

“Hey, Pasha,” she said, plopping down beside him in the dirt. “Don’t let guys like him bother you. They only pick on people when they’re too scared to face their own flaws.”

Pasha stared at her, searching for words. “You… you didn’t have to do that.”

Mira shrugged. “Of course I did. Friends stick up for each other, don’t they?”

He hesitated, the word *friend* foreign yet strangely comforting. “Friends?”

“Yeah,” she said as if it were already decided. “You’re smart, and I like that. They’re just jealous ‘cause they’re too stupid to understand anything interesting.”

Pasha looked away, his face softening. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, genius,” she said with a grin, picking up his stick to examine the symbols he’d drawn. “So, what are these anyway? Some kind of secret code?”

Pasha glanced at the shapes, his usual guarded expression softening slightly. “It’s… a star map. For tonight.”

Mira’s eyes widened with genuine interest. “You mean you know where the stars are going to be? That’s… wow! Can you show me how to read it?”

For the first time, Pasha felt something he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time—a quiet hope. Mira wasn’t like the others. She didn’t judge; she didn’t mock. Instead, she looked at him as if he were something worth knowing.

“Sure,” he said, feeling a strange warmth spreading through his chest. “I can show you.”

They sat together, Mira asking questions with her usual blunt curiosity, and Pasha answering with a confidence he didn’t know he had. As he spoke, his diagrams became a story of the heavens.

In that little corner of the playground, beneath the dappled sunlight of La Fiorita Kindergarten, Pasha realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone against the world.