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Hot day in mid September. Sky was clear, birds flew, everything was well.
Inside a small house laid a small figure. Crouched down with a notebook by his side. He wrote and wrote, all he ever did since he was young. Harold-his name was. Harold-or Harry Edward Cox Styles.
Sounds of metal clicking startled him. He hid his notebook in his pillow, pulling the covers over his head as steps came closer towards his door. The pit of his stomach sensed trouble.
"Why're you always in your fucking room?" Without any caution, his foster father let his belt hit him multiple times. The contact of the leather and metal slashing onto him hurt, but his emotions made it hurt even more. He'd been an orphan since he was an infant-his mother, whom was an immigrant from England and moved to America with her son, had died when he was just 7 years old. He was adopted by a mad man last year, just so he didn't have to pay anyone to clean, cook, do anything he desired for him. He didn't have to pay for pleasure either. They were poor and the foster father did not work. He made the boy get food, alcohol, cigars-whatever he needed everyday. He didn't care where the boy got it from-he didn't care if the boy himself hadn't eaten all day. If he doesn't get what he wants from the boy, he gets abused in all ways possible.
"I'm sorry! It won't happen again, Father!" Harry cried out. He had marks everywhere from his foster father's acts-no one dared to ask him where he got it from.
"Don't call me your father. You're just a fucking whore to me." The foster father spit, slapping the boy, causing a great sting on his hand and the boy's face. He gripped onto Harry's hair, making him look at him,"where's the food?"
"I got you soup!"
"That shit didn't fill me. Big man like me needs a lot more. Get more before I fuck you all over the place." He slapped Harry once more. With his grip on the boy's hair, he pulled him up, pushing him out the small room.
Harry ran out of the slum, wiping his eyes. He only had a sleeved shirt With pants held up by suspenders-no shoes. He managed to make it towards the town, lining up towards a breadline. The line was huge. He whimpered under his breath-the foster father will punish him for being late.
Next to the breadline stood two men, calling out,"you poor folks have a chance of seeing a free boxing match tonight at 6 pm! Bet on who wins and if your choice wins-you'll win $3!" Three dollars wasn't a bad deal back then. You could buy a few steaks and a lamp-to see at night-all together. With that, you'll have a few change for snacks. In some states, you got more than that, but this was New York and high tariffs were always an issue. This was perfect for Harry-he could feed the mad man a whole week or two without going to a long breadline. It would also be a good chance for exploring -time for himself. The boy took a cup of soup and a loaf of bread, walking towards the two men. "Sirs, where is the location for this boxing match?"
"Its next to the WPA program. we hope to see you there."
Harry ran towards the location which was a mile away. He saw the WPA program -he did need a job, but his foster father wouldn't let him interact with anyone. He sighed, but spotted the boxing arena. He went towards the entrance. There were two ballot boxes for whom was fighting. The first man was 'Richard Genson.' The second one was 'Zain Malik.' Harry looked at the two pictures. Richard seemed tense while Zain looked like a God. He was very toned and in shape. Harry didn't know who to pick. He bent down to pick up a pebble. He placed it in the middle and closed his eyes,"God, please show me the right answer. Save me..for just a week." He flicked the pebble. Once he opened his eyes, the pebble landed on Zain Malik's image. Harry took in the "answer", writing his name and placed it in the ballot. He ran back home with the soup and bread in his hands. He placed the items on the small wooden table.
"Why so late?" The foster father asked.

comment what you think of the first chapter and if i should complete the story !

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