There was a continuous sound on O'Connell's window, as if someone was throwing a gravel to hit it. He wondered if it was a dream, or it was just that he was hearing things. But then, the sound was non-stop.

He flicked his eyes opened lazily, and then stared at the clock hung on the wall. It wasn't even evening yet, and he had closed his eyes to nap after contemplating if he had done the wrong thing by writing a love letter to his own gender. When he was only nine. He wondered how his parents would feel if they could by any means, find out that he wrote a letter to a boy. Their neighbor's first son.

Worst, him developing feelings for a the boy.

O'Connell would get scold, he knew. And told that he was too young. And not supposed to like someone from his own gender, but a girl. His mom would caution him, because he was the only child, spank him, and then pray over the situation. Marguerite could be very religious most times.

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