I'm studying The Kite Runner at college at the moment and I have had some personal issues with the content. I wanted to tackle something that has been bugging me since reading it… How different would it have been, had Amir done something? I'm not talking in the long term, just more in the moment… I just can't help feeling that had he just had a little more courage, or if Hassan had made more of a scene…? I understand that without these events playing the way that they do, there would be little substance or point in the messages in the novel… So yeah, anyway… This is just experimental so let me know what you think (Please leave a review - all critisism welcome).

Different

"Your father won't find out," Assef said. "And there's nothing sinful about teaching a lesson to a disrespectful donkey."

"I don't know," Wali muttered.

"Suit yourself," Assef said. He turned to Kamal. "What about you?"

"I… well…"

"It's just a Hazara," Assef said. But Kamal kept looking away.

"Fine," Assef snapped. "All I want you weaklings to do is hold him down. Can you manage that?"

Wali and Kamal nodded. They looked relieved.

Assef knelt behind Hassan, put his hands on Hassan's hips and lifter his bare buttocks. He kept one hand on Hassan's back and undid his own belt buckle with his free hand. He unzipped his jeans. Dropped his underwear. He positioned himself behind Hassan.

And then, my body began to move on its own. The fist I was biting on wrenched itself from between my teeth and grabbed a handful of stones and dust. I began to shout, "No! Leave him alone!" Then I was throwing the rocks.

Assef and his thugs looked up, startled. Wali and Kamal's grip loosened on Hassan and I caught a glimpse of his face. Saw the resignation in it. It was a look I had seen before. It was the look of the lamb. In that second, I decided that nothing should make my friend, my brave Hassan, wear that expression.

Wali and Kamal looked to Assef, unsure. He smirked, "Keep holding him." Then he redressed his bottom half, briefly grabbing his famed brass knuckles from his back pocket before he advanced towards me.

I trembled and looked to Hassan. Softly, he shook his head, closing his eyes as a stray tear fell. I knew that he was telling me to stop. To allow them to finish what they had started. But I was involved now. I hardened my resolve, bending and gripping a few more weapons. I stood; legs slightly apart and hands in fists.

"Come to save your Hazara, Amir?" Assef sneered, raising his fists, knuckles glinting. "Or your kite?"

"I'm here for Hassan." I saw Hassan's head whip up, "Give him back to me." My voice was shaking harder than my knees.

"Kunis." He hissed, a sadistic smile on his face and with clarity, I noticed the irony in that word. "Here's what's going to happen, Amir; I'm going to beat you, and then, as you watch, I'm going to continue with your Hazara."

"No…" I murmured and my gaze flickered to Hassan's face again, notice the abrasions there. The fear and even hope. My eyes wandered to where his arms were forced to the ground and lastly to his still slightly raised bare backside. I couldn't leave him. He looked so frail.

"No." I said more firmly, looking straight into Assef's face. "No."

His face twisted, contorted and I saw the monster underneath. The monster in the lake. As he rushed at me, pelted him. One hit his chest, another hit his jaw, but they didn't stop him. I never had been a good shot. Not like Hassan. He hit me with his brass-laden fist and I went down with a cry.

I blacked out, I think, once or twice as the blows rained down on me. I remember Hassan's voice. "Bas! Amir-agha!"

As Assef slowed, as the strikes eased up, I unfurled and watched on, helpless, unable to move, as he returned to where Hassan was. Again, I looked to his sweet face. There were tear tracks now. And for a brief, insane moment, I was angry at Hassan. He could cry tears for me, who had brought my punishment on myself willingly, but not for himself, not for his hopeless selflessness.

Then I could be angry anymore.

"Make sure he watches." Assef muttered to Wali.

Then my head was being tilted up ever-so-slightly and I didn't have the strength to fight it. My eyes stayed glued to Hassan's, I couldn't look anywhere else and I realised that I couldn't see properly out of one eye. I was aware of the movement behind him, knew when it happened as his eyes twitched and he looked away ashamed.

"Look at me." I begged him. "Keep looking at me."

And he did, I noticed the slight rocking motion, understood what it meant. I kept gazing at him. He was biting his bottom lip and he was crying. I tried to move, I wanted to help him, but Wali placed a knee into the small of my back.

"Glorious, isn't he?" Assef growled.

Hassan whimpered. His eyes closed.

"You're a prince." I whispered, then louder, "You're a prince, Hassan!"

He whimpered again and said something which I assume was, "It hurts." Because he began to weep harder, though still just as silently.

I wanted to reach out, hold his hand. But I couldn't. "Please stop," I whispered hoarsely. "Please."

All of a sudden, Assef did stop. But as Hassan's eyes widened and he let out a shocked squeak, with disgust I realised why. Assef slumped forward a little. He straightened a few minutes later and pulled his lower half away from Hassan. Pulling his trousers and jacket back on, he jerked his head at Wali and Kamal and I felt the hands that had been holding me captive disappear. Running footsteps leading away from the alley and Hassan and I were alone.

I scrambled toward him, body aching. Hassan was curled up on his side in the dirt. Tears were on his face, but his eyes were now dry and open wide. He was clutching both his hands across his chest and he was shaking.

"Hassan…" I croaked, and finally realised that I was crying openly, "Hassan."

He looked up at me, kneeling by his side and something broke. With a flurry of movement he was in my arms. Despite the pain in my body I held him as close as I could, held the back of his neck as he sobbed – sobbed – into my shirt. My heart was breaking. My valiant Hassan was breaking in my hands.

After a few moments, his tears slowed and I murmured, "We should get home." He nodded slowly and moved to get up, stumbled, whimpering. I fetched his corduroy trousers and his underwear. When he went to put them on, I noticed with a sickening revelation that there was blood running down between his legs.

When he was dressed, shaking and looking like he was going to vomit, I took his hand and tried to drag him away. He pulled against me slightly, "The kite…" he whispered before grabbing it. Again I was suddenly angry; why was it that Hassan had no self preservation? I pushed my irritation away and took his hand again before dragging him out of that monstrous alley and heading home.

What am I going to tell Baba? And Ali? I turned around to look at Hassan. He was hobbling along, biting his bottom lip and his free hand white at the knuckles where he gripped the kite.

As a small, pained moan escaped his lips, I couldn't help but speed our flight, I wrapped my arm around him and pulled his across my back. I knew full well of the dark stain in the seat of his pants and the droplets of blood in the snow, staining it black. I wanted to get home. I wanted to be safe.

I opened the door to the smoky study and stepped in. Baba and Rahim Khan were drinking tea and listening to the news crackling on the radio. Their heads turned. The smile that was playing about Baba's lips fell away.

"Help." I murmured, feeling Hassan suddenly become heavier in my arms. He had lost consciousness and we both began to topple forward. Thankfully Baba shot forward, his arms coming around both of us, holding us. He was shouting. "Ali! Come quick! Bring hot water!" He kissed us both on the head and he was shaking. I vaguely realised that Baba was crying – something that I had never known him to do. "My boys," he murmured, "My boys!"

I passed out.

When I woke Baba was beside me, his head in his hands. I shot upright, rubbing my eyes. "Where's Hassan?" I croaked. Baba looked up at me, eyes red and he reached out a hand to touch my head.

"He's alright, he's in the other room." He murmured.

"Baba…" tears welled in my eyes, "They… to Hassan… I couldn't stop them…"

Baba grabbed me closed, crushing me to his chest, "No, you tried. You tried."

I sobbed, gripping his shirt. I don't know how long I cried for, but I know that Baba held me close and that he wept softly. When I calmed, I wiped my nose on my arm and asked, "Can I see him?"

"Of course." And I got out of bed and was led by Baba to the room where Hassan was recovering. Before I was allowed inside, Baba stopped me and asked gently, "Amir, can you tell me who did this?"

I thought for a second, regarding the serious and protective fire in Baba's eyes, nodding I murmured the names of our attackers. Baba's face hardened and he patted my shoulder. "You did well, Amir." He said.

I entered the room and my eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for Hassan. Ali was sitting next to the bed, much like Baba had been sitting next to mine. In the bed, lying on his front with his sleeping face turned towards the door, was Hassan. Slowly I made my way towards the bed. Baba remained at the door and called out to Ali. Ali turned and moved out of the room.

Hassan and I were left alone. Gently I brushed a hand over his brow. His eyelashes flickered and then his eyes opened. He looked at me, pain in his eyes. I felt the tears slide down my own face and Hassan lifted the covers with one arm, I clambered in beside him and held him. He looked so fragile.

He looked up at me, "Thank you, Amir-agha." He said and the ghost of a smile touched his mouth. It was in that moment that I knew that despite everything, he would pull through, though it may not be anytime soon. He would be my heroic Hassan once again.