The small boy climbs up the steps to his family's apartment, rubbing his weary eyes. He knocks on the door four times and waits a few minutes for it to open. When nothing happens, he knocks again, slightly louder. The boy pouts when he is once again met with silence. He takes off his gloves and pounds on the door until he hears a familiar, rusty voice shouting from inside.
The door flies open and there stands his father, tired and angry. The man grunts at the sight of his son and beckons him inside. The boy tosses his leather bag on a chair and sits down at the dinner table, waiting for his father. But he is instead met with a shuffling sound. The boy looks around his shoulder and sees his father looking through his bag, obviously not pleased.
"Where's your pay?" the man asks him angrily.
"I didn't get paid today-"
"Damn it, boy, I know that's not true! Answer me!" the man bellows.
"I used it to buy me some new gloves. My fingers and palms kept getting all scratched up, and I was beginning to work slower and they were getting mad-"
His words are cut short as his father brings his hand back and slaps the left side of his son's face. The boy immediately cowers under the man's deathly gaze.
"I didn't tell you to buy anything. I just told you to come back home after your work! Damn it!" He kicks the sofa. "I worked hard to get you a job, " A chair flips over, "and you go and ruin it!" Stinging pain erupts over the boy's right cheek.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the boy cries out, but the man continues his barrage.
A heavy impact on his stomach. The feeling of falling. Shoulder exploding in pain. He's scared. A leather shoe kicks his side. Curling into a fetal position. More yelling. Tears crawl down his face. He is kicked again. And again. And again.
And then it stops. Breathing heavily, the boy tentatively opens his eyes. He sees the door to the bedroom slam shut.
Knowing he doesn't have much time, the boy stands up, trying to ignore the pain in his side, and rushes out the door, not bothering to close it. He runs down the crowded street for a long time, past the local bakery, the school, and the theater.
He stops when he reaches the park, his safe haven. He had often come here when his father was drunk and in an uncontrollable rage. The boy breathes heavily and looks around. The sun is almost set, and he knows he will not be going back to the apartment tonight. He looks for a secluded area to sleep when he spots a man toss his newspaper on the ground.
The boy thinks for a moment, and then rushes over and grabs the crumbled paper. He grins, planning on making some quick coin to appease his father. He waves the paper over his head and begins asking strangers if they want to buy it. Almost all of the people ignore him, and the rest that acknowledge him turn down his offer. The boy continues his quest for another hour, but soon the streets are mostly deserted and he gives up.
He holds his head down as he slowly walks back to the park, tightly clutching the newspaper in his small hand. He is too exhausted to cry when he reaches his favorite bench and instead just lies down, wrapping the paper around his bare arms. He closes his eyes.
"Are you selling that?" a loud voice asks.
The boy startles, sitting up and facing the questioner. He is a fairly short and skinny man with a large smile on his face.
"Y-yes. Yes! I am!" the boy exclaims, excitedly smoothening the newspaper. He expectantly holds it up to the man, who takes it.
"This is the paper from a few days ago," he says. The boy's heart drops. "But I need to get caught up! I'll buy it."
"Thank you! I promise it has exciting stories!" the boy says happily as coins are placed in his open palm.
"Say, boy, why are you sleeping out here?" the man asks.
"I just wanted some fresh air," he quickly answers, but the man looks unconvinced.
"In this weather? Seems hardly pleasant. And you're shaking, which I doubt is due to happiness." The man frowns sadly at the boy, as if knowing what happened just a few hours ago.
The boy is unable to say anything, and simply looks down at the man's shoes. They're quite nice, but could really use a shining.
He looks up when a heavy hand is placed on his shoulder. The strange man is smiling. "How about you come with me? I have some blankets you can sleep under, they should provide more comfort than this paper."
The boy ponders for only a moment before making his decision to go with the man.
The two walk in silence, although the man occasionally hums some upbeat tunes. After walking a couple blocks, the boy can't take the silence anymore and asks, "What's your name, Sir?"
"Lawrence Key. And you, Sir?"
"I'm Noah. It's nice to meet you."
Emily watches her grandmother Esther rehearse her new dance. It really is quite amazing how well she can dance at her old age. Emily claims it's due to Esther's constant denial about being old. 'Nice and young at twenty-one' she'd say.
Just as Esther finishes her routine, the door pops open. Lawrence walks in, bringing with him a small and filthy boy.
"Who's that?" Emily asks.
"This right here is Noah," Lawrence proclaims. "And he is going to be our new newspaper boy! He will get the word around about our Grand Reopening. Right?" Noah nods his head.
Emily steps closer until she is face to face with the boy. She looks right into his eyes, squints, and says, "You're short. And dirty. But you seem nice. I'm Emily." She holds out her hand, which Noah shakes.
"Hi, Emily," he replies nervously. She grins at him briefly before returning to her grandmother to give her feedback.
Noah scratches the back of his head. "Is she nice?" he asks Lawrence.
Lawrence chuckles and ruffles the boy's hair. "You two will get along just fine, don't you worry."
"Oof! My head!" Noah groans.
"I told you to be careful! Now hurry up!" Emily commands. Noah sighs and continues crawling after her.
Noah had been living with the Keys for a couple of weeks, and Emily trusted him enough now to show him her "secret place". Little did he know this would involve going up on catwalks, climbing up unsteady ladders, and crawling in cramped places high above the ground.
"We're almost there!" she says.
Noah sees her stand up, and hurriedly crawls after her. He reaches the end of the tunnel and stands up next to her. It is a small and wooden room, probably only about ten feet wide. It is barren and the corners are filled with cobwebs. He looks at Emily, confused.
"What's so special about this place?"
"Over here!" she grabs his arm and takes him to the far end of the room. She practically shoves him into a wall. He is about to shove her back, but then he sees a circular window in front of his face. He gives Emily a questioning look before pressing his face up against it.
He can see the entire theater from here. The window is high above the audience and provides a clear view of the stage. His mouth is agape as he continues to survey the theater.
He feels something warm press against his right cheek and jumps, but soon realizes it is just Emily, also looking out the window.
The two stay there for a long time, enjoying each other's presence and the view. It was only when they decided to leave that Noah realized he had been holding her hand.