The Soup Master

Chapter 1

It was when the sun rose that the city came alive. Like the spotlight on a brilliant play, the rays of light shone through the clouds and seemed to bring its inhabitants to life. The streets began to bustle with the movement of those all trying to get to work on time, or early, in the hopes that they will either have enough money to pay for one more meal, or to try and support their families. One by one, many people grabbed long, woolen coats, faded khakis and button-up shirts, varying styles of suspenders that they owned, and made their way to their jobs. No matter how hard many of them tried, many seemed to almost be followed by a light layer of dust, grime, and either dashed hopes, or a dismal desperation that they could get them back. Many had eyes hollowed out, as though watching their hopes and dreams be torn from them had caused their eyes to try and retreat further into their skull. Their cheekbones were rather prominent in some cases, and many seemed to be wearing clothes that were barely holding on by a thread, or were so won out that it was a wonder they hadn't disintegrated from overuse.

In the mornings everyday, these same individuals crowded the doors of soup kitchens, or attempted to scrounge together some form of breakfast in the morning. Many even went without, if only to try and ensure a meal was available for them later in the day. The air itself was a combination of chilly breezes, and warm stillness. The beggars and homeless of the streets also crawled from wherever it was they called home, if just to try and garner whatever change strangers were willing to spare for them. Often times, they would retreat back to the spot they came like an animal will retreat home to its den, in order to prevent anyone else from taking their special nooks from them.

As the city came alive, so did the strange, rather modest soup kitchen. Many took note of how it had seemingly appeared overnight, but few questioned it, thinking that they simply had been too tired as of late to notice. That, or it had been there the whole time, and they were just confusing themselves.

The door to the soup kitchen opened again, and an unusual man walked out. His attire was rather strange for the 1930's, although many found that they preferred eating his soup than they did questioning his past or his attire. He was wearing a strikingly bold, navy blue button up shirt, though it was faded quite considerably. Over the top of that was a black vest, which seemed to have a pocket watch chain hanging between a clip and one of his pockets. It also had an unusual, gray sewn pattern on it, which seemed to resemble waves. The vest itself was also very thin, and seemed to have a slight shine as though it were made from silk. His slacks were gray, with extremely thin lines of white going down them. He was wearing what looked like a black leather belt around his waist, and had on a pair of somewhat grungy black dress shoes. On top of the vest was an unusual overcoat, which looked to be made from dark-gray wool. Yet, it was also incredibly thin as well. It had a slight collar, which looked like it was made from a small layer of fur, the kind that actually looked like it was either not from this world, or was completely fake. Unlike most of the other people in the general area, he also seemed to wear a fair amount of jewelry. Practically every finger of his had an assortment of rings on them, each with their own distinct, somewhat mysterious jewel or stone. Some had no stone or gem on them at all as well, instead sporting rather strange looking symbols, which were etched into the band itself as it wrapped around the finger. Around his neck, there was also a small chain, part of which was concealed under his vest, leaving it up to the beholder to wonder if it was a simple chain, or if it carried a pendant.

He walked around the corner of the building to the dumpster, taking out the trash the way he was slowly becoming accustomed to every morning. He smiled slightly as he got to the dumpster. Inside was more than just some old food scraps, and other varying types of trash. Inside was also a person, who liked to call himself The Dumpster King.

"Good morning today, Richard!" He said, as he came upon the dumpster. Richard Murphy was the name of the homeless man who lived in the dumpster.

The dumpster itself was an enclosed one, with a lid on top to prevent animals from getting into it. Not that it was really necessary. As if on cue, a dirty, unkempt head popped up from among the trash. He had a full beard, which looked to be filled with the remnants of either his last meal, or of whatever trash he had been sleeping on. Wrapped around his body was a rather old sweater, which looked partially moth-eaten. On top of his head was an old cap, which had several holes on the top. His eyes seemed to have a constantly surprised look, as though he had just been caught off guard every second of his life.