I was quite bored one night and I had just watched a movie on a homeless boy. Therefore, in a round about way it inspired me to write this little tidbit that doesn't make any sense. Although I'm considering making it into something a little more. My posting this on here is only cause I haven't done anything in a while. Anywho, enjoy!
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The beginning was the same as ever. A pale haired child sitting in a meadow, it looks to be in a patch of trees, somewhere in the mountains. The sound of the sea is faint, but still audible over the wave of indescribable sounds that the wind brings. Rustling the thick green leaves against other branches.
The child is sitting cross-legged in the center of the meadow. He fingers one of the lavender blue flowers that grow in abundance within that meadow. He is probably no more then four. It’s surprising that he is left alone in a place like this. Where nearly everything would pose a danger to such a young child. But just as surprising is the way that he sits unnaturally still. In control of his thoughts and nerves in a way that it would normally years—or never mastered at all.
Then comes the sound of a woman calling him. The name is inaudible, but the child recognizes the voice of presumably his mother. The recognition is more in his eyes then his movements. He tilts his head to the side, still staring at the flower he holds between his tiny, chubby fingers.
The sound of the woman’s cries are growing louder, and the boy looks up. It’s only then that the man in the trees is noticed. He clings to the darkness as though he belongs to it, his crimson jacket blending with the shadows that twist his features.
He barely reaches out to the boy, just a stretching of the arm and a beckon of a single finger. Though the man’s lips don’t move, the meaning is undoubtedly clear.
Come with me.
The boy looks back at the flower, then in the direction his mother is calling him from. By this time, a male voice has joined the shouting. His parents are growing panicked, and he realizes this. Mama and Papa want him to come, but so does the shadowed man.
He looks back to the man, and a finger beckons once again.
The boy drops the flower.
He clumsily makes his way through the long grass to where the man in the crimson coat is waiting for him.
He takes the man’s hand.
They are gone by the time Mama and Papa arrive.
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The next time is darker, with only orange puddles of light as breaks in the darkness. A thin crescent moon cast sparse light over the urban backdrop. It is the time of night when most are utterly asleep. But even with the city in the woolen blanket of night, two figures hurry between shops and down narrow alleys.
One is quite a bit smaller then the other, and he is the one being pulled by the taller person, presumably a man. Tugged onwards by the figure in the battered top-hat it is only when they pass close to one of the streetlamp-splashed puddles that the small figure is undoubtedly the very same boy from the meadow. Though now he is probably twice the age at the time of that incident.
The top-hatted figure is carrying a walking cane, and it is frequently waved in the direction they are moving in. No words are spoken, the man seems unwilling to risk announcing their presence by such a thing, and the boy seems to know that silence is necessary.
The scents of rotting garbage and piss is rancid in the narrow roads that the man leads the boy down. His nose wrinkles in obvious disgust, but the man doesn’t notice. He barely looks at the boy, even when he stumbles the only response is a short, sharp tug as what seems to be a warning, and they continue on.
At long last do they reach their destination. A tall, iron gate with gothic lettering across the top, although the words are obscured by the strange, dancing shadows cast by the lamps on either side of the gate.
The boy looks around him without letting go of the man’s hand. His face his frightened, but in the tight, clipped way that would suggest that he was trying to suppress his fear. It seems as though he had not known of their destination, and is not entirely pleased with being there.
He shivers in the damp cold that hangs heavily in the streets while the man pulls the cord attached to the wall. As far as the boy can see and hear, it does nothing. But a moment later, the iron gate parts into two and slowly swings inward.
The man rushes forwards, dragging the boy behind him, who seems to have decided that he does not want to go inside. He pulls back ever so slightly, but the man isn’t stopping. He forces the boy onwards until they reach the creaking wooden stairs that lead to a battered front door that is already rotting away in the corners.
The man raises his staff and gives the door a few sharp raps that threaten to send it careening off of it’s rusted hinges. But before he can abuse the door any further, it swings open.
A sallow-faced man is in the doorway, his hair is black and long, looking like it hasn’t been washed for a very long time. His face is that of one very unaccustomed to smiling, and a sneer makes it’s way across the man’s bland features as he looks down at the child, who is staring up at him with barely concealed alarm.
“This is the boy you were speaking off?” the lank-haired man growls, rubbing his grubby hands on an even dirtier coat. “He’s awful small…”
“Yes, yes, I am well aware of that.” The man in the hat snaps, obviously irritated by this man in general, “But what does it matter, it will only be for a short while.” And before the other can squeeze in a word of response, he turns his back to him. Crouching down in front of the boy as to become eye-level with him.
“Are you leaving me here?” the boy whispers tightening his grip on the man’s hand.
The man’s expression softens at seeing the boy’s terror. “Yes, but it’s just going to be for a little while, is that all right?”
The boy vigorously shakes his head. “Can’t I come with you?”
“I’m afraid that where I’m going is not meant for little boys.” The man replies with a sad smile, “But I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
The little boy looks away now, and doesn’t respond.
“Lucian?” the man says softly, and the boy looks up. Clear, crystal tears are running down his cheeks and the man takes him in a tight embrace before.
“You’ve gone soft.” The long-haired man sneers at this small show of affection, but by the time the man has risen to his feet again and adjusts his hat, his face is as cold as it had been before as he now regards the man.
“You had better take care of him to the fullest extent of your somewhat non-existent abilities, Rudolph. Or I will show you just how hard I still am.” The man says icily, swinging the cane in a full arc and snapping it into the palm of his hand.
The man in the doorway cringes. “Fine, come here boy.” He says, though his coarseness is now more an act to keep his fear from showing as he roughly pulled the boy away from the hand he is so desperately clinging to.
Then the man in the top-hat turns and hastens away, his strides more long and urgent then he had been in arriving there. It is when the man is almost at the gate that the boy begins to struggle against the man’s hold on him.
“Father!” he cries, freeing himself from the man’s grasp and charging towards the gate that is slowly closing behind the departed figure. “Father!”
He reaches the gate, but it has already closed. He takes hold of the bars, his voice rising in volume and desperation. “Father! Come back!” He sinks to his knees, reaching through the bars as though it would bring the man back. But of course, it does not. “Please.” He whispers, before he begins to sob.
I think you already know me (Because I have commented on your other work and if you look up, you can see my name) though, I am Apple and I seem to be the first reviewer for this peice.