Black Lung Shadows

Chapter 1 - Squeak

Lenny Harlowe stirred awake to the loud rumble of his stomach, a steady, insistent growl that tugged him from sleep. The light filtering through the cracks in the window was dim, barely strong enough to slice through the stale, dusty air that filled his tiny room. Shadows clung to every corner, the walls painted in a faint, washed-out hue that seemed to blend with the shabby gray of the floor. His vision was foggy, his world no more than a blur of shapes and indistinct patches of color; morning always greeted him with hazy outlines rather than clarity. Lenny longed for glasses, but they were a luxury his family could never afford. They could barely scrape by as it was, living off scraps and hand-me-downs, piecing together what little they had just to get through the week.

Groaning, he threw off his thin, rough blanket and shuffled to the corner of the room where his clothes were piled. His pants were frayed at the edges, mismatched patches sewn onto the knees, each one a different color and texture. The shirt he pulled on was so worn and threadbare that the fabric was practically transparent in places, hanging off his narrow shoulders like a sheet over a lamp. He studied his reflection in the cracked mirror—a small, skinny kid with hair that stuck out in every direction, a smudge of dirt across his cheek, and a sharpness in his eyes that belied his size. Even for an eighth grader, he was smaller than most, his scrawny frame a stark contrast to the sturdy, broad-shouldered boys he often passed on his way to school.

But if he lacked size, he made up for it with a loud mouth. They called him "Squeak" because of his high-pitched voice—a voice that grated on nerves and always seemed to stand out in a crowd. Lenny didn’t mind the nickname; in a way, he wore it like a badge. Better to be remembered as "Squeak" than to blend into the background like another silent face in the sea of school kids. He had learned early on that in a world where he could barely afford the basics, his voice was one thing he didn’t need money to wield.

With his mismatched clothes hanging loosely on his thin frame, he grabbed a scrap of toast left from yesterday’s supper and stuffed it in his pocket before slipping out the door, carefully closing it behind him to avoid waking his younger siblings. His steps were quick, more of a shuffle, as he made his way down the dirt road that wound through his small, coal-streaked town. Everything here seemed to have a layer of soot settling on it, a dark sheen that gave the world a muted, bleak look. Sometimes, he wondered if one day he’d wake up and the whole town would be buried in black dust, everything consumed by it, like some slow-moving shadow creeping over their lives.

His thoughts drifted as he walked, feet stirring up small clouds of dust with each step. He took a long, slow breath, watching the faint plume of his own exhale in the morning air. School was just up the road—a squat, weathered building with chipping paint and squeaky floors. It was nothing fancy, but for Lenny, it was a place he could stand out. In the hallways, he could be loud, brash, maybe even annoy a few people. Anything to feel like he had some control over his world.

Inside, the school buzzed with the noise of students pushing and shoving their way to class, laughter and chatter echoing off the walls. Lenny strutted through the hallway, his lips curling into a cocky grin as he yelled a greeting to anyone who looked his way. He wasn’t going to let the world ignore him—not today. Today, he’d make sure he stood out.

That’s when he spotted Paul—a tall, thick-set boy with broad shoulders and a glare that could freeze water. Paul was a few years older, an 11th grader, known for his rough attitude and fists that didn’t hesitate to fly. He was everything Lenny wasn’t: big, strong, intimidating. People moved out of Paul’s way without a second thought, giving him a wide berth as he strode through the hall like he owned it. But Lenny, in a moment of boldness (or perhaps foolishness), decided today was the day he’d get Paul’s attention.

“Hey, Paul!” Lenny called out, his voice carrying that high-pitched ring. “Maybe don’t step on any toes today, eh? You don’t want sore arms swingin’ at all of us, yeah?”