Mine

i

There’s a frost nipping at his toes and stinging his fingertips. No matter how hard he digs his hands into his chilled body, he can’t keep the warmth in his hands. His knees are drawn to his chest, scraps of newspaper and cardboard under his ass, trying to prevent the cold pavement from freezing his rump, arms wrapped so tightly around himself it hurts. His clothing’s far too thin to prevent the cold air from seeping in to kiss his goose pimpled skin.

He should go home, he knows this, knows that despite the waft of alcohol and filth, it’s warm there. At the very least, he wouldn’t freeze to death, but the idea of his keeper, he wouldn’t dare call him a father, willed him to take the risk. A couple more hours and the man would be laid out. He could sneak in then, quiet and perhaps even hide before he woke.

There is a convenient little access to a crawl space, tucked away in the back of his closet. The previous owners more than likely cut out the section of wall to get to plumbing, he however, dubbed it his safe haven. He was lucky he was tinier than most, it wasn’t the most comfortable place to hide, and of course it was dirty, but his father didn’t know about it. He filled his closet the best he could to distract attention from the two by two square cut into the closet’s side wall, and so far it had been a sanctuary if things went south.

Once home, if his father woke, he could easily make his retreat. Making it seem like he never came home the night before. It wouldn’t be the first time he had fooled that man into thinking he wasn’t there. Anything so he could escape his hands, his fist, his…

He didn’t finish the thought, a strange noise, from his suppressed whimper, low in his throat, reached his ears. It only served to upset him, beside himself with embarrassment. He’s alerted to the sound of someone passing by, or at least, he hopes they will walk past the alley. But his luck was always as fresh as a week old dog shit.

His breath stills as he hears foot falls growing louder, and he pushes himself further against the brick wall of the tiny alley, praying the bags of garbage hid him well enough so he couldn’t be seen.

You never knew who would stumble through these narrow passages, nor would one want to find out. He was young, but he wasn’t stupid. At only fifteen, he was well versed in the grotesque nature of mankind. The way they thought, processed, desired and craved, especially when there was no one to judge their actions. Unbridled thoughts becoming realized, much in the way people hid behind technology.

Anyone could be anything, say anything, without much consequence. Anonymity, was a frightening steroid for those repressed by society. It wasn’t always a problem, most of the time it was innocent curiosity, but in turn it could just as well be brutal, vicious, and unrelenting.

The footsteps stop short a few feet away, and he holds his breath. He hears a cooing, something being set down, whispered mournful words, heartbroken and rushed, and he feels his heart drop from his chest at the sound of a small gargled giggle. He hears the rustling of fabric before feet make their way hurriedly out of the alley.

Then he hears it. Hears the small sniffle slowly transform into a pitched wail. He doesn’t waste time in jumping up, his bones creak and pop at the force of movement after being still for so long. He ignores the ache, stumbling over his numb feet. He looks to the end of the alley to find it empty, whoever was there, gone. He turns to face the bundle in a makeshift box, his heart nearly shattering at the cruelty of it all.

It’s not that this doesn’t happen. These things do happen, too much to justify in this area, despite the poverty and depravity that ran ramped. He carefully bends down, lifting the bundle at arm’s length in front of his eyes. The small, hand knitted blanket falls over the babies shoulder, the child ceasing its tears, wet wide eyes lock onto his own. In the poor light he can’t make out the exact color, but he thinks they’re hazel or golden brown. The boys tears forgotten, he smiles with his tongue out, innocent and unaware of his own abandonment.