The boy stumbled away from the village, he looked over his shoulder to see the townsfolk carry pitchforks, lifting them in the air and screaming, both in fear and anger.
The boy sprinted away, he caught one last sight of the boy he called his best friend, Race. Who looked stoic, he looked as if he didn't care for his terrified friend.
The boy couldn't control his powers, leading to the village to find out, his own parents and siblings became afraid of him, retreating into the growing crowd, even Race grabbed a pitchfork, the only boy he trusted, the only boy he cared for, the boy that tossed him aside for the townsfolk favour.

The red head stumbled upon a small wooden cabin, he cautiously stepped inside, to see a boy in ragged clothes, his curly hair overtook his eyes, he sat on a wooden stool, not noticing the red heads presence.
"Hello?"
The boys head snapped up, he looked warily at the boy, looking intensely at his hand.
"No need to be afraid. The names Albert"
The boy smiled before shaking the boys hand,
"Finch."
Albert smiled, and the two ran out of the front door, they picked flowers and played in the sun, eventually retreating into the house when the sun went down.
Albert felt at peace once more, his mind had forgotten the village, his mind had forgotten Race, and the brutal trauma he had just experienced.