The boy’s stomach groaned, a familiar misery. Hunger walked hand and hand with the child longer than any other. Mom and dad fragments of memory passing through the slipping fingers of youth. Fluorescent lights flickered beyond the glass of the empty store. Shelves bare, tipped over in frustration by those that came before. Always last, scraps forgotten by predators too tall to see beneath their feet. A distant crash sent the child into a crouch, hairs prickling on the back of his neck. Danger, not here. Emotions and speech muddied in the boy’s sharp mind, one in the same. Tubes spiraled into symbols above the doorway that he could not understand. The doors had been chained and boarded, by one within or without he was uncertain. Doubt. He backed away, but the pit widening in his stomach doubled-him over with hunger pangs. He needed to eat. Thirst cloyed in his dry throat. Face pressed to the cool glass, he tried to see beyond the fog of his breath.
Broken machines lay in heaps, the faint hum of something still running inside reverberated against his nose. The flickering light made him squint, seeing movement where there was none. A glint of metal, the sheen of colored plastic. His stomach pressed him forward.
Rock heavy in his small grasp, the boy took a step back from the window. He hurled it into his reflection, wobbling it. Again. A hairline crack formed, he squatted down, ready to run at the first sign of movement. Nothing. He clutched the rock with two hands, throwing with his full weight. With a crash, the window shattered inward. Tinkling glass dropped bit by bit in the aftermath. Then, the scream.
A klaxon cried out at the intrusion as the boy leapt over the window’s edge. Heat, a pressure of something in his bare foot. Blood pumped in his ears, the rush drowning out both hunger and pain. He scurried to the toppled shelf, yellow plastic jutting from the bottom like a trapped limb. He pulled, a growl unbidden escaping from his lips.
The boy pulled it free, rewarded with a deflated bag of still-full potato crisps. Euphoria. His head swam with relief. He searched more, and found a bounty. Two more bags, and the greatest prize of them all—a sealed plastic bottle of soda that had rolled deep behind a broken cooler.
The deep crunch of glass beneath a booted foot sent him to the ground. He peered around the edge to see a man stepping through the shattered storefront. A large pack hung heavy on his back, and the boy smiled. The child dug through his pockets, back against the rough sheet metal, and pulled forth a clutch of dirt, worms writhing against his fingers. The steps approached, a voice full of obscurity, words the boy did not know. He wrinkled his nose. The man stank of sweat.
Worms in hand, he stood, pushing past the tightness in his foot. The man was startled and stepped back from the dirty, grinning child. The worms whipped with one final motion before they fell to ash, becoming lines of light that darted from the boy’s fist. The man stood still a moment before falling in a heap, wisps of smoke rose from his eyes.
The child brushed the dirt from his palms and went to assess his prize.
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