Jacques "Jack" Vernadega is a redheaded protagonist born by a couple that died from (seemingly) unknown causes when he was six. At twelve, he ran away from his foster home to pursue a better life. He was stuck alone and wandering the streets until h...
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The juvenile boy stumbled from the doors of the large, historical building of the foster service's facade. His clammy, soft hands pressed against its heavy oak frame, curling ever so lightly around the handle and tugging it down - making sure it closed as quietly as possible.
Adrenaline ran through his veins like pressured steam, and he stumbled from the historical structure. Hands brushed past the texture of hard, tired brick lit by the artificial light of lamps overhead. He was free. Free! The rain had dropped to chilly temperatures from the wind that swept across the streets as he travelled down the sidewalk in the quiet winter air. Birds chattered, the quiet bustling of city life churning from the heart of the area. All in all, he was relieved.
He stopped in his tracks for a second, the distant rumble of thunder alerting the young teen into a nearby alleyway, covered above by the patio of what looked to be an abandoned library. The cold breeze from the sky chilled his youthful bones, and he instinctively tugged the leather parka he wore closer to his chest. But it didn't feel warm enough.
He needed to sit down.
He settled at an old outdoor table shielded by the overhead of the ancient storefront, joints in his knees creaking tiredly. A condensated breath escaped his chapped lips, flecks of ginger hair curling up against his icy, pale skin. The foster home he escaped was rough, but it had a heater: something the outside world didn't.
That, however, didn't faze the boy much.
The world may have been cold, but the past he had already faced was much colder. He lost his parents young, yet had nobody who truly raised him.
Foster home after foster home, parents didn't seem to care too much about his quiet nature. He never truly felt at home. What would my family be like? He thought. He rose his heavy, still hands and pulled open his jacket, glancing at the black shirt underneath. Soft, baby blue eyes glanced at the tag of white text text on his chest.
"Adalminster Foster Homes."
Above it, a name tag. Jacques Vernadega. It felt foreign by now, if anything, yet he was content to see that the name was still his own. It was by now one of the only things he still kept that reminded him truly of his family and who he was.
The light from the outside reflected off of its sheen and soon, something caught the boy's eye. It was a blue gem, small enough to sit in his palm, and he quietly leaned over to pick it before stuffing it in his coat. Something like this would be an easy way to start with some money in his pockets.
Jacques looked back up the street in which he came, and let out a lamenting shudder. It was finally over. He mentally sworn from his heart that his trip had concluded. He didn't care where he travelled - nor where he would go next - but he knew that in his own promise, things would be better no matter what. The young boy rested snug against his parka, the newfound trinket in his hand and closed his eyes, weary.
× × ×
The sound of dogs and loud voices suddenly startled the boy awake. Dazed, he heard a conversation amidst the haze of his slumber and he drowsily listened in, a memory coming to light. For a brief moment, he remembered being woken each morning by members of the foster care, giving him small bits of bacon and eggs for breakfast and telling him who would come visit today... in hopes of choosing him.
"There was a boy who left the foster care up the street yesterday. Have you heard?"
"He wasn't you, was he?"
"Jacques."
The daydream snapped his body completely awake. Hesitant, he glowered out of the alleyway, body curled in cardboard boxes and his parka, and eavesdropped to a couple walking past the opening of the channel he secluded himself in.
"Yeah. I heard. Word came fast after the employees called out. The cameras were off and everything... I'm surprised something like this hasn't happened already."
"Mhm... how sad. Maybe the kid is better off. Those mutts probably don't even know his scent."
They conversed, overlooking the boy's presence as they headed up the road.
Mutts?
Dogs.
Jacques' eyebrows furrowed at the newfound knowledge and eventually stumbled to his feet with no haste. He was being hunted down. The snarl of dogs grew nigh, and in alarm did the young boy feel a rush of vivacity and ran as fast as he could through the alleyways. He made a break for his escape, for his childhood, and exited out of the other side of the brick-laced corridor and out onto the street over. It was mostly clear of dogs and people, for now. Jacques could see with somber orbs the back of the foster care that had stolen most of his childhood from him, looked at it for the last time, and bounded up the street, never looking back at what fell behind his view.
