My Short Stories

1. A child

Warning: there may be triggering content ahead.

   It was morning. The air arid and empty. People began to wake, the few already awake hustled around their homes. Home, a house that's more than just a house. A house is not a home though. Like a square and a rectangle. A square cannot be a rectangle, however, a rectangle can be a square.
If only the child, barely alive, had a home. He had a house, though. Small as it was, it was shelter. So why was he on the streets. Almost everyday, people would see him on the streets. Sometimes, kind pedestrians would offer good and or money, but never a home.
Once, a police officer came by, off duty. You could tell he was of authority, however. He asked the child, "And why are you here? Where are your parents?"
It took a while before the child responded, looking down at his over sized t-shirt.
"At home."
"And why aren't you with them, did they forget you?" The officer asked in a gentler tone, taking in his battered appearance. He had heard from others of this child.
"No, they don't care."
It was a simple answer, but it was enough to raise alarm. The officer stiffened.
"Why don't you want to go home. Are you scared? What do they do?"
"Momma sits on the couch all day. Dad goes to work. But sometimes he comes home early and gets real angry. That's about the time I leave, otherwise I get hurt."
The officer nodded. Reaching out, the officer gently took the child's hand. "Why don't you come with me." The child could barely stand. That's when the officer noticed that the child's legs were not in the most healthy of shapes. Scars littered his ankles and calfs. His legs bent and bare toes crooked.
"Ok."

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Hands rapped against the dull cracked door. The officer glanced at the kid. It had taken a while to persuade the kid to take the officer to his house, but he finally managed.
The door swung open, almost immediately. There stood a tall women, or at least she used to be. She was hunched over, one shoulder high and the other loose. Her hair was thin; dull.
"Yes?"
She looked at the child. Pausing before she said anything. "Andy? Is that you? I thought you were inside..."
Her voice was slurred, slow and distorted. She was a druggy, and currently stoned. The officer could easily identify the signs. "Ma'am, I will have to investigate the house, may I come in?"
It took a moment, but she nodded, moving to the side. The officer shuffled inside, taking pictures of anything worth of evidence with his phone. He would have to report this.
The child stood uncomfortably in the corner of the living room. He held himself, stiff.
After a few minutes, the officer could hear a car pull into the driveway. Soon the front door slammed open. "Stupid boss. Stupid work. Why the- why did this have to happen! He had no ri-" the man stopped his rambling when he noticed the officer in the living room. Camera out, the officer stood facing the women, where a conveniently placed bag of tobacco lay.
"WHY THE HECK ARE YOU TAKING PICTURES OF MY WIFE?!"
Before the officer could take action, the man stumbled over, punching him in the jaw.
Eventually, the problem was resolved. The officer explained himself, saying that he was with the police, much to the mans displeasure.
After a few hours of further persuasion, the officer continued to take pictures of the drugs, and eventually the child's abrasions and cuts.
Leaving wasn't easy. He couldn't leave the child here. He couldn't take him either, though. The officer walked out the front door, heading straight to his work. It didn't matter that he was off duty, this child was more important.

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The next day, the officer went over to the house, ready to arrest. The child wasn't there. With the parents apprehended, the officer was at ease. He knew the child was at the street, the same one as yesterday.
The officer lived alone. His wife had died the previous year of a vicious stomach cancer, and he had no children, none that survived anyways. He used to have two, twins. They were run over one day on the way to school. Hit and run. Drunk teens, early in the morning. It was horrible. They were rushed to the hospital. One had her spine broken. She was paralyzed and in deep agony, they both were. Te other had too much head trama.
He wanted to adopt the child, or at least keep in touch. No kid should have to go through that. The officer would make sure that he had a bright future.
On the way to the street, which was farther away than he would have liked, the officer stopped at McDonald's. He suspected the kid hadn't eaten anything, and he wanted to help.
Finally arriving, the officer saw the kid laying on the sidewalk. No flys around. No butterfly floating. Not even a bird tweeting. It was eerie. Nervously, the officer checked his watch. It was 3:00 pm.
He didn't know why he was nervous. It was probably because of the silence. Maybe because of the absence of life. Maybe it was even because the kid around as still as a board, not moving an inch.
"Hey... I have food."
Nothing.
"It's me. The guy from yesterday, John." He didn't remember if he ever said his name, but it didn't matter.
"Hey..." he said as he kneeled down and shook the kid. No movement. Realization struck. He rolled the kid over to face him. The kid was pale; stiff. He checked his breathing, putting a finger under his nose.
Nothing.
He checked his pulse, putting two fingers against his neck. Then his wrists.
Nothing...
The kid was dead. He let another one go. If only he had gotten there sooner. If only.