Some people dream of stranger worlds, seek escape from the world's tragic reality, and desire freedom. They are wild spirits with a spark of hope, clinging to half-empty spray-painted cans. They speak in poems, which are nonsensical but resonate wit...
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WAKE UP & SMELL THE CORRUPTION screamed the bold, black markings etched on the run down towers of the city. A familiar phrase that quietly slipped from the cracked lips of the fourteen year old boy, long before the display of graffiti could make itself vulnerable.
His body rocked gently to the movement of the wheelsets over the train tracks, obeying every bump and slight swerve the woeful ashen train took. His eyes, a dull shade of deep brown, chased the blurred landscape of the ghastly place outside the window. He found that amidst the silvery, misty air, tones of tawny browns, ominous black and gloomy greys coated the entire city, starting from the infamous crumbling tower to the crooked blacktop streets. All he could hear was the rumbling of the rusty train carrying him along earth's demolished state – not the voices of the soulless individuals around him, nor the careless laughter of the quiet children several years younger than him. In a city full of empty people, Theo Russell had learnt to tolerate it's painful silence.
A golden beam suddenly broke out from atop of the land, embracing the land of ruins in it's golden wake whilst almost blinding the dazed boy. Redirecting his gaze, he focused on the filled brown paper bags that threatened to topple over with each forceful jolt. Theo yawned. After blinking his sunken eyes several times, he wearily reached down to grip onto the handles of the bag, that is until an orange escaped. Down it rolled, weaving through passengers' motionless feet and out until the fruit founds itself trapped in the frigid grasp of a sheepish little girl.
Theo observed her. The way her oversized clothes rarely sat on her frame, slipping ever so slightly off her shoulder to reveal the prominent dents in her collarbones, the pallid complexion of her hollow cheeks that stood as a solid contrast to her black attire. In an attempt to return the fruit to him, her arm jutted out weakly to grant him the pop of colour their world lacked. But, instead of plucking the orange from her palm, the corners of Theo's lips tugged upwards before he shook his head full of mahogany curls – silently gesturing for her to keep it. He couldn't help but notice how vividly the green in her eyes lit up – even if just for a second – before a bashful "thank you" resounded from her thin, pink lips.
The adolescent orphan instantly pondered on the future consequences of his actions as his fire-breathing dragon of an aunt came into mind. He winced at the thought of the shot flames searing and scorching his brown skin once she finds out about her missing item. He's learnt from experience on how perceptive the older woman can be, yet in this moment – the moment in which the surviving Harrington girl peered up at him as if he'd granted her a large
amount of money – he was willing to face the wrath of his aunt if it meant the stray child had at least something.
Pearl Dorsey, a woman as poor as a church mouse, held the title of the pickiest woman Theo has ever encountered. So it should come as no surprise when the woman would send her nephew out of town to fetch her groceries rather than put the local stores to use. Not that Theo minded – anything to break free from the smothering holds of hell that came in the form of a box-like structure house.
