Last Chance

Chapter 2: Hansen

I stumble over a trash bag in an alley filled with stinking, rotting trash. The dumpsters are overflowing with the stuff, and a few whiskered, scraggly men are lying in the shadows with broken beer bottles surrounding them.

My father told me about these people a lot. He said that they'll do all sorts of things. They're not safe. He told me to stay away and run if one of them came close.

These men don't look like they can hurt me right now. They're all asleep and drunk. Quietly, I creep past them and continue on my way. I've been walking for a day now, and only just reached a big enough town that I can be unnoticed. I don't want to be anywhere near people who know my parents. That's the last thing I need right now. Reminders of my parents are too painful. The only thing I've kept is that horse statuette. And my own memories, which I can't erase no matter what I do. Those, however, I want to keep. So I've come here to try to escape the places that we frequented. Maybe someday I'll go back, but not any time soon if I can help it.

The darkness in the sky is lifting, and sun is beginning to spill over the horizon. I wish it wouldn't. Nothing should be bright and happy right now. My parents just died two days ago. I don't ever want it to be bright again. It should pour and drizzle like it did all day yesterday. I'd rather be wet than deal with the bright, happy atmosphere sunshine brings.

My lips part, dry from a day or two spent without water. I drank what I could get from rain drops yesterday, but it's not enough. My stomach growls like a ferocious beast. Well, some part of me needs to function normally, I guess.

Not that I want to eat either. The thought revolts me as I remember my parents' pale faces and the blood... Blood everywhere. Bile rises, and I lurch to the side, emptying my stomach's meager contents into someone's petunias and rose bushes. Hope they don't mind.

A woman comes out of the house the petunias belongs to. She has a narrow, pinched face, and I realize a second too late that she'll be mad if she sees me throwing up in her flower bushes. I'm sure I also look like a tramp with my unkempt hair, haunted eyes, and soaked clothes. Oh, and the mud spattering my clothes. I blame the cars on the roads for that. Some truck drove past after the rainstorm and covered me in mud from a puddle by the road.

Sure enough, the woman's eyes widen with fury when she notices me. Even though I know she's going to do it, her scream of outrage still shocks me. My own eyes go wide with uncertainty. I step back a few feet, backing into the busy roadway.

"Get away from my flowers, you tramp! Go on! Before I call the police on you, vagabond."

The woman knows some interesting words. I don't know what vagabond means, but from the way she's shouting and going red, it can't mean anything good. I guess she doesn't have much pity for people like me. Not that I want it, but when my mom saw kids like me on the streets in town, she handed them food if she had it or took them to get a little something. This lady just throws a clod of dirt at me. 

Everything seems sort of distant and muffled. Nothing seems real anymore. I don't feel anything. No fear. No anger. No sadness. It's as if the grief that should be there has yet to reach me.

When the woman throws a rotten fruit at me, I turn on my heel and run.

***

I spend the night cold and miserable in an abandoned alley with a scruffy black and white cat. It meows at me piteously, and I rub its matted fur with a sad sigh. You and me both, buddy... Guess we can keep each other company in misery, eh?

Yeah, this is totally normal... I've always been a strange one. I didn't want to take part in the foolishness other kids my age wanted to indulge in. Instead, I wanted to learn. Everything fascinated me in school, but especially things that involved writing, herbs, or drawing. That and music.