Flashback
Walking down the street was a boy who seemed desperately hungry. His ragged clothing was dirty and tattered, hanging loosely on his thin frame. His unkempt hair fell into his eyes, tangled and uncombed, betraying a life of neglect.
As he moved through the crowd, piercing stares of absolute hatred followed him. Whispers rippled through the air, as if everyone was warning each other—aware of what he was capable of. They called him "the trash," a label that clung to him like a shroud, marking him as someone to fear.
The boy kept his head down, clutching a small, battered satchel close to his side. His empty stomach growled in protest, but he pushed forward, ignoring the hostility around him. Somewhere inside, a flicker of defiance burned—he refused to be defined by their hatred
He reached the alleyway's end, where shadows cloaked the broken remnants of the city. It was there he paused, eyes scanning the dark corners – not just for danger, but with a specific, almost imperceptible flicker of anticipation. His hand hesitated before reaching into the satchel, a silent signal understood by someone unseen. He pulled out a crumpled piece of bread – his only meal for the day, or so it seemed to any observer.
Suddenly, a rough voice echoed from the shadows. "Hey, trash. Thought you'd be too scared to show your face around here."
The boy's shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn immediately. His gaze flickered towards a deeper recess in the alleyway, a subtle acknowledgment. Then, he slowly held out the bread, voice trembling but firm. "I don't want trouble. Just, please… I'm hungry."
A figure stepped forward, a scar running down his cheek. For a moment, there was silence. Then, unexpectedly, the man's expression softened. "You're not like they say. You're just a kid trying to survive."
The boy looked up, eyes filled with a mixture of suspicion and hope. From the deeper shadows, a pair of anxious eyes watched the exchange, belonging to a slightly older boy, his frame even thinner, his gaze fixed on the offered bread. This was Horuto, Soren's brother, hidden and waiting.
As the scarred man's attention remained on Soren, Soren subtly shifted his weight, his eyes flicking almost imperceptibly towards Horuto's hiding place, a silent reassurance.
The scarred man sighed, a flicker of something akin to pity in his gaze. He reached into his own tattered coat and pulled out a bruised apple. "Here. Take this too."
Soren's eyes widened in surprise. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his fingers brushing the man's calloused hand. "Thank you," he whispered, clutching both the bread and the apple.
As the scarred man turned and walked away, disappearing back into the city's grime, Soren turned quickly towards the deeper shadows. A small, relieved sigh escaped Horuto as he emerged, his eyes fixed on the food in Soren's hands.
"You got something!" Horuto whispered, his voice hoarse with hunger.
Soren nodded, a small, rare smile touching his lips. He broke the bread in half, offering the larger portion to Horuto, along with the apple. "Here. You eat first. You've been waiting longer."
Horuto's eyes glistened. He reached out, his thin fingers trembling slightly as he took the offered food. He devoured it quickly, his hunger a palpable thing.
As Horuto ate, Soren kept watch, his earlier fear replaced by a fierce protectiveness. He was "the trash" to them, the one they hated, but he was also a provider, a brother willing to risk their scorn to keep Horuto alive.
When Horuto had finished, a fragile peace settled between them in the desolate alleyway. The city's shadows still loomed, and the hatred still existed, but in that small, shared meal, a bond of love and resilience had been reaffirmed. They were alone, reviled, but they had each other. And for now, in the broken heart of the city, that was enough.
The fragile peace in the alleyway was short-lived, punctuated by the distant shouts and the ever-present sense of danger that clung to the city's underbelly. Soren watched Horuto finish the bread and apple, a knot of worry still tightening in his chest. Their sanctuary was precarious, their survival a daily struggle.
Just as a deeper unease began to settle, a familiar figure reappeared at the alley's entrance – the scarred man. He moved with a hesitant gait, his eyes scanning the shadows until they landed on Soren and Horuto. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a thoughtful expression.
"You two still here?" he asked, his voice softer this time. He noticed the shared food, the quiet companionship between the brothers. The hostility he'd likely witnessed from others wasn't reflected in their interaction.
Soren tensed, ready to bolt, but Horuto, sensing no immediate threat from the man's demeanor, clutched Soren's sleeve.
The scarred man held up a hand, a gesture of peace. "Look, I… I live not too far from here. Got a small place. It ain't much, but it's better than this." He hesitated, glancing around the grim alley. "If you two are really just trying to survive… maybe you could stay there. For a while, at least."
Suspicion warred with a desperate hope in Soren's eyes. "Why would you do that? Everyone else…"
The man's gaze hardened, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Everyone else can rot in their own hate. I've seen enough of it to last a lifetime. You remind me… of someone I used to know. Lost him too soon." He looked at Horuto, his expression softening. "You're just kids."
After a tense silence, Soren, his protectiveness for Horuto outweighing his fear, nodded slowly. "We… we'll take you up on that."
The scarred man offered a small, weary smile. "Name's Kaelen. Follow me. And try to stay quiet."
Kaelen's small dwelling, tucked away in a less frequented part of the city, was indeed meager but offered a semblance of safety they hadn't known in a long time. He gave them a corner to share, a thin blanket each, and shared what little food he had. For a few weeks, an unexpected normalcy settled over their lives. Soren still ventured out to scavenge, but now he had a safer place to return to, a warm meal sometimes waiting, and the quiet, gruff companionship of Kaelen.
But their fragile peace was destined to shatter. Whispers, like tendrils of poison, began to spread through the city. The "trash" and his kin were living with Kaelen, a man who, while not popular, hadn't openly courted their hatred before. Resentment simmered, fueled by fear and prejudice.
One night, the sounds of angry voices echoed outside Kaelen's dwelling. The air grew thick with menace. Kaelen, his face grim, ushered the boys to hide in a small crawlspace beneath the floorboards.
"Stay quiet," he urged, his voice low and strained. "No matter what."
The door to the small house splintered open, and a mob surged in, their faces contorted with rage, stones clutched in their hands. Soren and Horuto huddled together, fear gripping them as they heard the accusations hurled at Kaelen, his desperate pleas for them to be left alone.
"You harbor the filth! You side with the cursed!" the voices roared.
The sickening smell of burning filled the air, acrid and terrifying. The heat above them intensified. Kaelen's screams, filled with agony and betrayal, pierced the thin wooden floorboards.
Then, silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.
After what felt like an eternity, the sounds outside faded. Kaelen was gone. Their protector, their unexpected savior, had been brutally murdered for offering them shelter.
When they finally dared to emerge, the small house was a smoldering ruin, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burnt wood and flesh. Kaelen's lifeless body lay amidst the debris, a horrifying testament to the city's cruelty.
Soren's heart ached with a grief that mingled with a burning rage. Kaelen, who had shown them kindness when no one else would, was dead.
In the aftermath, fear warred with a grim determination. They couldn't stay here. But where else could they go?
As Soren sifted through the remnants of Kaelen's life, he discovered a hidden compartment beneath a loose floorboard. Inside, he found a worn leather wallet and a credit card. Kaelen had mentioned having a small savings.
A plan began to form in Soren's mind, cold and desperate. They would stay here, hidden amongst the ruins. He would clean the house as best he could, erasing the most obvious signs of the fire. And Kaelen's money… it was their only chance.
Days turned into weeks. Soren worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the soot, salvaging what little remained. He learned to be even more stealthy, venturing out only under the cover of darkness. Using Kaelen's credit card, he made small, careful purchases – food, basic supplies – always wary of drawing attention. The wallet money served as backup, for the times the card might be unusable or too risky.
The weight of Kaelen's sacrifice pressed down on Soren. He would honor it by keeping Horuto safe, by surviving in this hostile world. The alleyway had taught him hunger and fear. Kaelen's brief kindness had shown him that a different world might exist. His brutal death had solidified a new, hard resolve. They would survive. They had to
The end