Chapter 1
Alex woke up, cold and tired. He struggled to his feet and checked the moon, seeing how long he had before he had to move on. Nearly an hour. He could deal with that. He sat back down against the back of the pub, tired, exhausted really despite having just woken. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. The New York streets were quiet. But that was to be expected at 3:30 in the morning. He knew the pub manager would be back at 4:30 and had to be gone by then.
By 4:15 he had gotten to his feet, carrying his small backpack and set off. He felt like a snail, his home, clothes and entire life kept in a small bag on his back. He set off, hoping to cover at least 10 streets by the time he had to stop. There was a pub near there, and he had to make it. He started walking, dragging his left leg behind him even as he heard the click in the lock that said the manager had opened the pub and would catch him for tramping in minutes. He stumbled along; barely walking his leg was so twisted. As he walked, he thought.
His thoughts were erratic and crowded, his mind a small room but someone kept shoving more and more in until he drowned in the guilt and memories. Cold rooms, dark lonely nights, days that seemed to stretch forever, down in the pitch black of someone's basement.
He woke up as the first rays of sun hit his eyes. He jumped to his feet, biting back a scream as his leg moved, bone grinding on bone he gasped in pain. It had to be at least 7am. He had only made it two streets and needed to reach 15th soon if he was to have any hope of sleep today. Not that he wanted to sleep, or rather, not that he wanted the memories that plagued his mind to have any more of an opportunity to fill him in vivid 3D worlds that he had left behind. It seemed that running physically away wasn't enough; his mind kept bringing him back again.
One more year. One year and I'm 18 and don't have to live in this system. I can get a job; I can walk out of the shadows. But at the same time, a year was a long way away.
He limped along, trying to ignore the stares he brought from the other civilians. His hoodie and long pants covered most of his body but nothing could hide his twisted leg and face. He just looked down at the ground and tried to ignore the looks of horror that bored into him as he walked.
After nearly 3 hours, he made it to 15th and sat down against the wall of the pub. After being picked up twice for tramping, he had learned the best place to hide was near pubs, where one more person sleeping off their hangover didn't seem out of the ordinary. It was the perfect hiding spot. He stayed there for a few hours, trying to sleep but at the same time wanting to never sleep again, to never give his memories the power to occupy his entire mind and destroy him. He sat and just silently cried, hoping to deal with the memories now so they might allow him with an hour of sleep tonight before he had to move on. He sat and knitted; making small toys to sell tomorrow for the pitiful money he could make to buy food for tomorrow. He sat and knitted, making bears, dogs, cat, unicorns and dragons, animals and mythical creatures. He made children and adults and families joined by the hands, looking sadly at the bright smiles on their faces.
By nightfall he had made nearly 20 toys, and was cold, despite his hoodie and track pants. He shivered and curled closer, shoving his toys in his bag for tomorrow. He lay, tightly curled on the cold concrete and eventually fell asleep. He woke with a cry as a candle flame was shoved into his face. He screamed and sat up, blinking into the light of a police officers flashlight. His breath was quick, almost hyperventilating as he held a hand in front of his eyes, and looked at the woman before him. She seemed friendly enough and offered him a hand. He stood, leaning heavily on her she gasped as she saw his leg. He thought about running but knew there was no chance with his leg in that condition. Her partner came around then, getting out of the car and walking over. He seemed angrier and not nearly as nice. He practically dragged Alex to his feet, ignoring his hiss of pain and shoved him in the car.
He sat impatiently in the police station. His last foster family had declared they didn't want him back so he was waiting for another house to be sorted. He was bored, imagining how bad the next could be. Well none could be worse than the⦠no. I'm not thinking bout them. Nu-uh. He shook his head, like clearing water out of his ears and growled at the voice in his mind. He sat, looking at the kids around him, some were so young, only 7 or 8 and already alone in the world. It mad him sick, remembering being that age, a new country, alone. It hadn't sold itself very well.
