A Hero's Escape: A Narrative Fiction

This story starts in a murky alleyway focused on a hidden bundle. A boy just out of infancy, buried in rags, breathing in the thick mist alone. No soul around to feed or care for him. An adult's mind he must obtain. Though short his thread to life is as lung-deep coughs emerge. Slipping into slumber, ghost smoke fills his mind. Fear-filled screams draw our story to this past. We watch as he crawls trading this horror for another. He enters a world of lost love. Gentle hands a fading memory as bruises take their place. His mind, drenched in the scent of alcohol, standing strong. Only an infant he learned to hide. Silent and scared, listening to the thunder on the stairs. No time to play, he'd clean the house. Only a house - not a home. The ache of hunger became his teacher, moulding his movements; mouse-like movements they became. Skills of protection soon followed, encouraged by the pain of others discovery. These skills enabling his escape. An escape we now follow back to the time our story is set. Where it is
Frown sinking to worry. Forgetting all fears of darkness, the clicking of heels reaches the boy’s side. This woman’s smile calming, light, voice lulling. She's careful not to startle him as she brings him securely to her chest. Her once spotless outfit washing in the mud-stained concrete. Meanwhile, a spark has grown in the boy’s eye. This stranger matching visions of guardians in his past. His weak body comes alive, a flash of silver brightens the street. The boy shoots up. A jagged silver strip tearing the woman's cloth. Her heart halting - mid beat failing. Gone is this privileged girl an empty shell in her place. Organs once keeping her inside now dangling on the street. Cackling breaks the mist. Excited hands fiddling with the tan coloured skin, mouth straining so unused to his smile. So our scene can now fade on the platted strings of flesh, the boy having gained one tiny spot of enjoyment