The cold is so piercing it caused bones to rattle and lips to turn blue. The back alley is where all the boys slumped, smoking and drinking, forgetting about how shit their lives were. For them is was easy to forget, easy to fade away as so many young boys did. The year was 1940, an age no one thought would be remembered, even as war knocked on their doorstep. Lives were lived, stories forgotten.
A boy stood out among the others. He was wearing a baggy trench coat, clutch his hands tightly together, as if in prayer. His dark, intelligent eyes scanned the area, taking in his surroundings with apparent disgust. He has the air of old money and and the utter stench of uptown. The look of privilege would not prevail long in the streets. They were unforgiving.
"Oy Jonny kid, o're here." The boy, who couldn't have been more than seventeen, grudgingly moved to the older, more threatening man. A man was backed by several of his cronies, trying to look big. "My name is Jonathan." The boy spat out, liking defiantly up at the man. "Who cares round here son. Eat or be eaten. Wanna smoke?"
The boy looked uncertain, but it was only a flicker, like a shadow running across his face.
"Why the hell not. Who are you?"
He tentatively twirled the cigar around long, aristocratic features. Preparing to breathe in the toxins, he leaned casually to the wall. It was like slipping into a daydream, or as if he had been one of these people his whole life. The oblivion of the streets was as toxic as the acrid smoke in his lunges. Breathing in the toxins. "Your new best friend. Name's Tommy."
YOU ARE READING
City Lights
Short Storyhe was a downtown boy she was a girl wearing red their worlds couldn't be more different, but opposites do attract. When they do, their love shines brighter than the stars, but burns out in a rage that fuels violence.
