Spoiler! :
A young boy of around the age of ten was huddled against the oncoming cold that was inescapable in the chilling night. His feet were bare, his clothes torn. His face was stained with a sort of filth that was deeper than just the surface of his skin. He stared, unblinking with his wide, glassy eyes, at a photograph the size of a playing card in his clenched fist, apparently indifferent to the dropping temperature. His hair was as dark as the sky overhead; not a trace of light escaped—the shining light of the single streetlight didn’t quite reach the place where he was resting. The shadow concealed him.
Maybe, if someone walking by looked close enough, they would think to ask why he wasn’t at home in a bed with blankets and a pillow and a mother to kiss him good night. Maybe they would see that those wide, wild eyes have locked away waterfalls and oceans of tears that have refused to fall. Maybe they would notice the darkness that cast shadows over his young heart—or that there might not have been any light there to begin with.
* * *
“I won't ever leave you, I promise.”
Keane raised his head. He sat with his back pressed up against a graffiti-covered brick wall that rose up to join the blackness of the sky above him. Clouds were sweeping in from the north, sheltering the world from the vast expanse of stars that threatened to swallow Keane up as he stared up at it. His legs were folded in front of his chest, his pale hands clasped around his knees. Discolored, shriveled leaves skittered down the sidewalks, carried briskly by an occasional gust.
Keane leaned his head back onto the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He could almost feel that warm hand reaching forward to banish the tears that had trailed down his cheek that night, so long ago. It had been about the same temperature outside, then—not quite winter, yet the air had a bite to it when the wind kicked up.
“Keane, we will be fine. You just need to trust me.” The hand left his face, instead reaching down and grasping his trembling fingers. They appeared lifeless in the dim moonlight.
A harsh wind struck just then, whipping his dark hair out of his face. Keane opened his eyes to a sudden clarity of his surroundings that had previously been obstructed by his hair, but this quickly vanished as the breeze died. A cold chill followed directly after; Keane pretended not to notice himself shivering.
In his hand Keane held his photograph. In it, Alena was standing beside him, an arm around his shoulder, tethering them together. Her warm, trustworthy eyes were fixed on Keane’s face instead of the camera. Keane bore an expression of happiness that was forced on his mouth and absent in his eyes. Standing behind both of them, her chin turned upwards and her cold eyes and plastic smile trained on the camera, was her.
Why had this photograph been taken in the first place? Keane imagined that she thought they needed to look like a real family, and taking a picture together would prove that they were happy.
They say that a camera can capture everything happening in a picture, down to every strand of hair, every eyelash, every speck of dust—nothing was missed through a camera lens. However, it did miss one thing in this picture—despite the smiling faces, he distinctly remembered the fear and anger that boiled up inside him whenever he was too close to her, who was an unpredictable, impulsive creature. She was like a wild animal that hides from prying eyes as it licks its wounds. There is an equal chance of it tolerating one's presence as there is of it lashing out at the intrusion, fangs bared, eyes narrowed.
Keane couldn't stand to look at the cold, menacing stare, so he kept his eyes focused on the comforting arm grasping his shoulder.
“But how can you be sure, Alena? What if she finds us?”
“We'll be all right. Just as long as we're together.” She looked into Keane's eyes with a determination that was so unfamiliar to him that he couldn't look away. Her hair shimmered in the light of the moon overhead in a way that made her seem strange, wild.
Keane looked up, searching the darkness above him and finding the luminous, silver crescent, which was soon covered by the advancing clouds.
* * *
“Keane, can you help me sit down? I just can't seem to—” a resounding cough escaped Alena's mouth, low and course-sounding. Her voice was coming in rasps, like it had been since the day before. The rain pounded overhead, colliding with the roof of a small bus shelter. Very little light penetrated the shelter; the dark was heavy in the air.
Keane took her hand and supported her as she lowered herself onto the ground. Keane could hardly stand the look of her—her eyes were glazed over and sunken in, as if she had aged decades in a matter of days. They didn't seem to focus, either; they just stared off into the distance. Keane imagined that she was remembering when they first escaped. How long ago had that been? Weeks? Months? It didn't really matter anyhow.
A chilling gust ripped through the street in front of them, but they were protected for the most part by the bus shelter they were sitting in. They couldn't stay long—the first morning route would begin in a few hours—but it did provide a temporary sanctuary.
“Oh, I forgot, Keane, it's your birthday today, isn't it?” Alena reached forward and ruffled his hair, which appeared to take much more effort than it should have. Keane's eyebrows raised, his eyes widened. Was it really December already? There had only been one minor snowfall this year so far, and the cold didn't seem to bite quite as much as it used to. He supposed that they had become accustomed to the constant chill in the air.
“That's a big number, nine.” Elena leaned her head back against the bench, closing her eyes; Keane had to lean forward to hear the end of the sentence. She suddenly wrenched her body forward, following with another several seconds of coughing.
Alena reached into her pocket. “Anyway, I have something for you. It’s a surprise. I was going to wait until Christmas, but I…I just wanted you to have it now, I guess.” She coughed again before holding out the gift. It was a small photograph, just about the size of the hand that reached forward to receive it.
“I wanted you to remember us together. Just in case…we lose sight of each other for a while.” Alena ran her fingers through Keane’s hair again, and then leaned back, her eyes closed.
Several hours later, just after the sun had risen, Keane was forced to leave Alena sleeping while he found a new place to stay. He returned to the bus stop after searching to see that Alena was lying in the same position that he had left her. She had fallen asleep and wasn’t going to get up again. Keane stared at the still face of his sister, knowing that he needed to leave her behind—he would be found if he stayed. Scared and alone, Keane grasped the photograph in his hand and ran.
* * *
Keane sat up suddenly as he heard sharp footsteps rounding the corner. The sun had already burst forth on the horizon, leaving him temporarily blinded while his eyes adjusted. The sun's rays made bright reflections on the windows of the nearby buildings, which glared into Keane's squinting eyes.
Keane backed into the small alley several steps away, trying to quickly hide himself among the sparse shadows. He crouched down in time to see a mother walking briskly down the sidewalk, her daughter being dragged along and trailing behind.
The girl was stumbling over her mother’s heels. She appeared to be extremely uncomfortable in the clothes she was in—her white dress and shoes looked tight against her skin. They were turned into a golden yellow by the blazing sun. Her hair, a silvery blonde, reflected the light behind her as well.
“Mama, slow down,” the girl pleaded, tugging on the hand that gripped hers.
“We’re already late, come on,” her mother said, not even looking back to see her. They were already almost out of sight, but in the instant they disappeared around the corner, Keane saw a pair of bright blue, wide eyes looking at him, the young, innocent face searching his. Then they were gone, the sound of their footsteps receding into the distance.
She saw me.
Keane stood up, hesitant. For one wild moment, he imagined that she recognized him, though from where, he wouldn't know. He had the most sudden impulse to follow after the girl and ask why she looked at him. His curiosity threatened to overcome his fear of being discovered.
“Keane, don't talk to anyone, all right? Don't even look at them. If they find us, they will send us back to her.”
But he made his decision—shaking the image of her piercing eyes out of his mind, he began to run.
Keane wasn't even aware of where he was going—he ignored his burning lungs and the painful impacts of his feet on the sidewalk until he could no longer recognize his surroundings. Gray, nondescript buildings towered above him, simultaneously blocking out the harsh winds and the warmth of the sun. They all looked the same, looking up from the ground. He glanced around, looking past the buildings that loomed overhead into the distance in an attempt to find recognizable landmarks. Mist had formed, shrouding what was left of the landscape in a dense fog. He saw nothing that he knew.
The sun continued to rise, but it didn't quite cut through the fog. Keane shrank into a dark corner of one of the buildings, sinking to the ground with a sigh.
* * *
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