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Jul. 23rd, 2013 02:37 amThe steady dripping of water from the ceiling into the cracked mug next to the mattress did little to alleviate his fear of the approaching darkness.
The drip's usual steady rhythm often helped him feel calm, but he knew he needed to find a light. There were empty lanterns in some of the rooms...even a few candles. He had nothing to light them with, however.
He knew he would probably get lost again, but he needed light. The boy stood up and hopped off the mattress and headed for the stairs, carefully stepping over the broken and missing ones. With both hands on the handle he managed to heave the heavy front door open and he headed outside at a bit of a run, his sneakered feet slapping the wet sidewalk.
**********
It had been a long time, he knew he was far from the house but he plodded on, too tired to run. Not knowing the layout of the city, he had drifted into an unfamiliar area. Perhaps there was a store that sold lights.....no...he had no money. He sighed and tried to be brave and not cry. Keep moving, he told himself, you can find what you need, just keep looking.
The boy padded along, keeping his eyes down, the hood of his ridiculously huge sweat shirt covering his head. He wandered a lot from the empty old house, it was scary inside. When people came, he always hid or ran. Some came there to drink and others, like him, used it occasionally as a place to sleep. With the house vacant tonight though, his objective for leaving was finding a light source. The child ignored any curious glances from onlookers, keeping his eyes trained down to spot anything that could be of value.
His legs were tired and he wasn't sure where he was. Overwhelmed with frustration, the child sat on a building stoop. He leaned forward slightly, as a painful growling rippled through his stomach. Finding food became a priority...a light could wait. It was less frightening under the sputtering hum of the neon lights and a steady stream of headlights from traffic. With a whimpered grunt, the child headed for the metal dumpsters. There were two large ones alongside the building and he wasted no time scrambling up the side and peering over the edge before hoisting himself into the dumpster among the garbage which was wet by the recent rain. Methodically, he picked up then tossed useless items onto the pavement with clatters and occasional clinking of glass. A plastic bottle bounced across the alley, rolling to a stop at the base of a lamp post. The boy had not rummaged long before finding a loaf of bread, still in its colourfully polka-dotted plastic bag. Without hesitation, he tore it open and peeled away the fuzzy parts before cramming slice after slice into his mouth as fast as he could chew. The dumpsters here were far better than the ones by the old house.
* * * * * * * *
Somewhere, sitting under piles of manilla folders, was a file with a photograph. The hazel-eyed stare of a boy looked past the camera lens, unsmiling. Unkempt hair tufted about the child's head and if one were to guess, they would say his age was six or seven, maybe eight. Removing the paper clip and setting the picture aside would reveal several documents. A quick scan of the words printed on the papers would show several repeated words, some underlined. Neglect. Malnourished. Unsafe environment. Someone, at one time, managed this child's case, along with dozens of other children, making recommendations for improvement before the workload proved to be too much. No one was aware that he had joined the ranks of the homeless in the sprawling city. This was to become a new chapter of his life, written by fate.
The drip's usual steady rhythm often helped him feel calm, but he knew he needed to find a light. There were empty lanterns in some of the rooms...even a few candles. He had nothing to light them with, however.
He knew he would probably get lost again, but he needed light. The boy stood up and hopped off the mattress and headed for the stairs, carefully stepping over the broken and missing ones. With both hands on the handle he managed to heave the heavy front door open and he headed outside at a bit of a run, his sneakered feet slapping the wet sidewalk.
**********
It had been a long time, he knew he was far from the house but he plodded on, too tired to run. Not knowing the layout of the city, he had drifted into an unfamiliar area. Perhaps there was a store that sold lights.....no...he had no money. He sighed and tried to be brave and not cry. Keep moving, he told himself, you can find what you need, just keep looking.
The boy padded along, keeping his eyes down, the hood of his ridiculously huge sweat shirt covering his head. He wandered a lot from the empty old house, it was scary inside. When people came, he always hid or ran. Some came there to drink and others, like him, used it occasionally as a place to sleep. With the house vacant tonight though, his objective for leaving was finding a light source. The child ignored any curious glances from onlookers, keeping his eyes trained down to spot anything that could be of value.
His legs were tired and he wasn't sure where he was. Overwhelmed with frustration, the child sat on a building stoop. He leaned forward slightly, as a painful growling rippled through his stomach. Finding food became a priority...a light could wait. It was less frightening under the sputtering hum of the neon lights and a steady stream of headlights from traffic. With a whimpered grunt, the child headed for the metal dumpsters. There were two large ones alongside the building and he wasted no time scrambling up the side and peering over the edge before hoisting himself into the dumpster among the garbage which was wet by the recent rain. Methodically, he picked up then tossed useless items onto the pavement with clatters and occasional clinking of glass. A plastic bottle bounced across the alley, rolling to a stop at the base of a lamp post. The boy had not rummaged long before finding a loaf of bread, still in its colourfully polka-dotted plastic bag. Without hesitation, he tore it open and peeled away the fuzzy parts before cramming slice after slice into his mouth as fast as he could chew. The dumpsters here were far better than the ones by the old house.
Somewhere, sitting under piles of manilla folders, was a file with a photograph. The hazel-eyed stare of a boy looked past the camera lens, unsmiling. Unkempt hair tufted about the child's head and if one were to guess, they would say his age was six or seven, maybe eight. Removing the paper clip and setting the picture aside would reveal several documents. A quick scan of the words printed on the papers would show several repeated words, some underlined. Neglect. Malnourished. Unsafe environment. Someone, at one time, managed this child's case, along with dozens of other children, making recommendations for improvement before the workload proved to be too much. No one was aware that he had joined the ranks of the homeless in the sprawling city. This was to become a new chapter of his life, written by fate.
