Our Boys

The Sleeping Boy

A sudden crash made both Cal and the child jump and turn in surprise. Behind them, Simon was reaching for a second crate, grabbing it and flinging it to land near the first.

"No! Stop it!" Ethan lunged forward but was held back by a pair of strong arms wrapping around his chest. He screeched and began struggling wildly, his heels connecting with Cal's shins as he was lifted into the air. "Stop it! You're tearing it up!"

"Shh, Ethan, hey. It's all right. It's gonna be alright." But it wasn't all right and Cal found it hard to comfort the child while at the same time worrying about his friend.

The look on Simon's face was terrible to see. Raw pain and anger reflected in blue eyes that were windows to bad memories of his own. More crates were pulled free and the inner structure was slowly revealed.

"Make him stop! He's gonna wake up Josh!"

Shit, if only he could. "Don't worry Ethan, he won't. He won't disturb Josh."

Simon barely felt the rough, splintered wood as it bit into his palms. That pain was nothing compared to the aching tightness in his chest. A detached part of his mind was aware of the fact that Cal was holding Ethan and that his actions were upsetting the boy. That part of his mind could also coldly speculate on what he would find when the last box was removed and mocked the pointlessness of his efforts. Unfortunately Simon couldn't hear that calm voice of reason over the angry cries of his heart.

Children weren't supposed to die. Full stop. Not on the streets. Not in schools. Not in their homes. Not alone in empty shopping centres. Children were blessings. Sons, daughters, nieces, nephews.

His nephew.

Simon suddenly froze and drew in a deep breath of air; logic and reasoning slamming back into place once more. A second breath followed the first as he leaned heavily on the pile of crates. How many years had it been since Charlie's death? How many times had he relived that moment when he'd first learned of the car accident that had taken the lives of his brother and nephew? How many times had he given in to the pain and the guilt, blaming the world while at the same time wishing he could see his two family members once more?

He couldn't blame himself for the death of this homeless child; a child he hadn't even known existed until this day but he could mourn the passing of another innocent life. And he could at least see the child properly laid to rest.

Shifting another box revealed hidden planks that served as a makeshift roof. Two more crates and he had the central board cleared. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, Simon lifted the next piece of wood.

The orange street lights, filtered through dirty panes of glass, filled the empty shopping centre with a dim, almost red illumination. Broken windows and loose roofing panels admitted more of the beams of light that cut through the dust filled air like golden spotlights. One beam fell across the uncovered "home" revealing the tragedy within.

The child lay curled on his side, his head pillowed on a pale slender arm; his face hidden by dull, ragged locks of dark hair. A dark t-shirt and torn jeans covered the rest of his body leaving only his feet bare.

Slowly, carefully, Simon reached out his hand and gently uncovered the hidden face. His breath caught in his throat as he saw dark lashes rested across the too white flesh of a hollow, sunken cheek and lips slightly parted as if any moment a sleepy sigh might escape.

Dreaming of angels.

Blinking hard to clear his blurring vision; Simon gathered the limp body into his arms with the child's head resting on his shoulder. Physically, the burden was pitifully light but as Simon turned to Cal, he felt as if his spirit was crushed beneath an enormous weight of despair.