Arte com IA: He has a head wound and a broken finger, both caused by his older brother, Lloyd, during a fight in the school playground. The teacher says they were fighting over a medicine bottle, which is a cause for concern, but no one can find the bottle. Usually, Pauly acts like the toughest little eight-year-old. With thick black curls, like his brothers, he carries himself like a champion boxer, all shoulders and fists. I half expected to see a cigarette behind his ear. Now Pauly’s faux toughness has drained away like dirty bath-water, and I see a shivering little boy, scared and alone. He’d already been in hospital for hours when I arrived, sobbing with pain and scared the doctors were going to put him in care because his mum couldn’t be found. Tomorrow, I must make an unenforceable ruling – Lloyd and Pauly must never be in the same room together unsupervised. Then we will have a meeting to discuss Lloyd Neilson and temporary foster care. ‘Miss?’ Pauly is still wide awake. Of course he is. He’s used to staying up late. I realise I’ve slumped a little in the chair. Where is that doctor? ‘Yes, Pauly?’ ‘Them doctors,’ Pauly says. ‘How do you know they’re nice men?’ ‘Because they’re here to take care of you.’ ‘Our headmaster says that. But he’s not a nice man. He just pretends.’ ‘Most people are nice deep down, Pauly.’ Pauly stares at the hospital curtain. ‘Were your teachers nice?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Were they clever, like you?’ I laugh. ‘I’m not clever, Pauly. If I were, I wouldn’t be working in social services.’ Pauly laughs too. ‘Miss, you made a joke. You are clever, though. Was your parents clever too?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Is your mum still with your dad?’ ‘My dad died when I was young. I miss him, actually.’ ‘Did he get angry?’ ‘Not much. He shouted at a policeman once for pushing a homeless man. “Leave that man alone.” And he got angry with my sister and I when we dug up his potatoes.’ Pauly sits up straighter. ‘Was you a bit naughty when you were little then?’ ‘Well ... not often.’ ‘Oh.’ Pauly slumps back, disappointed. ‘So you was like ... a really good kid? Like, happy and all that.’ ‘I was lucky.’ Pauly stares with the eyes of a much older person. ‘I’m not lucky.’ ‘I’m going to do everything I can for you, Pauly,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll arrange a special meeting for your mother, and I’m going to speak to lots of people – teachers, the headmaster – we’re going to work out how we can keep you safe.’ ‘Mrs Dudley tells lies. And Mr Cockrun. They’re both liars. They’ll put me in care and then no one will believe me.’ ‘Teachers don’t make those decisions—’ Suddenly the curtain is pulled back, and a tall, tired doctor stands before us, looking sallow under the bright strip-lighting.
Criado por cheerful cloud
Detalhes do Conteúdo
Informações da Mídia
Interação com o Usuário
Sobre esta Obra com IA
Descrição
Prompt de Criação
Envolvimento
cheerful cloud
cheerful cloud
He has a head wound and a broken finger, both caused by his older brother, Lloyd, during a fight in the school playground. The teacher says they were fighting over a medicine bottle, which is a cause for concern, but no one can find the bottle. Usually, Pauly acts like the toughest little eight-year-old. With thick black curls, like his brothers, he carries himself like a champion boxer, all shoulders and fists. I half expected to see a cigarette behind his ear. Now Pauly’s faux toughness has drained away like dirty bath-water, and I see a shivering little boy, scared and alone. He’d already been in hospital for hours when I arrived, sobbing with pain and scared the doctors were going to put him in care because his mum couldn’t be found. Tomorrow, I must make an unenforceable ruling – Lloyd and Pauly must never be in the same room together unsupervised. Then we will have a meeting to discuss Lloyd Neilson and temporary foster care. ‘Miss?’ Pauly is still wide awake. Of course he is. He’s used to staying up late. I realise I’ve slumped a little in the chair. Where is that doctor? ‘Yes, Pauly?’ ‘Them doctors,’ Pauly says. ‘How do you know they’re nice men?’ ‘Because they’re here to take care of you.’ ‘Our headmaster says that. But he’s not a nice man. He just pretends.’ ‘Most people are nice deep down, Pauly.’ Pauly stares at the hospital curtain. ‘Were your teachers nice?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Were they clever, like you?’ I laugh. ‘I’m not clever, Pauly. If I were, I wouldn’t be working in social services.’ Pauly laughs too. ‘Miss, you made a joke. You are clever, though. Was your parents clever too?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Is your mum still with your dad?’ ‘My dad died when I was young. I miss him, actually.’ ‘Did he get angry?’ ‘Not much. He shouted at a policeman once for pushing a homeless man. “Leave that man alone.” And he got angry with my sister and I when we dug up his potatoes.’ Pauly sits up straighter. ‘Was you a bit naughty when you were little then?’ ‘Well ... not often.’ ‘Oh.’ Pauly slumps back, disappointed. ‘So you was like ... a really good kid? Like, happy and all that.’ ‘I was lucky.’ Pauly stares with the eyes of a much older person. ‘I’m not lucky.’ ‘I’m going to do everything I can for you, Pauly,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll arrange a special meeting for your mother, and I’m going to speak to lots of people – teachers, the headmaster – we’re going to work out how we can keep you safe.’ ‘Mrs Dudley tells lies. And Mr Cockrun. They’re both liars. They’ll put me in care and then no one will believe me.’ ‘Teachers don’t make those decisions—’ Suddenly the curtain is pulled back, and a tall, tired doctor stands before us, looking sallow under the bright strip-lighting.
3 months ago