A young boy sniffled. His shaggy onyx hair fell in his eyes and he rubbed them with the back of his thin hands. It occurred to him, as an afterthought almost, that he cried a lot now-a-days. (However long 'now-a-days' was he barely remembered.) But it was hot. He didn't like the desert. He missed his mom. He didn't understand why she would just leave him out here after that phone call from the Army. He just wanted his dad to come home, and his mom to bring him home.
Hiding in the sparse shade provided by the large cactus he was sitting under he started sobbing loudly, snot running out of his nose. He sobbed hard. He sobbed until his throat ran dry and he ran out of tears. Then he wailed until the sun went down. Standing up on shaky legs he picked up his makeshift club.
It wasn't much, just a piece of common shriveled cactus. He had spent hours pulling the needles from the browning plant. It was worth it. He didn't like snakes and they didn't like being clubbed.
He stumbled through the sand until he could find another cactus, one that would be easier to get water from. He remembered reading that somewhere, that water was in a cactus. Maybe his dad had told him over the phone. Maybe he learned it at school. None the less he knew he could find water in a cactus and he needed water. With a single-minded determination, that would certainly aid him later in life, he walked on.
Once he found a suitable cactus (small enough to break, large enough to have water), he set to work. He realized, a few beats of his club in, he was crying again. He broke the cactus jealously slurping the water and sobbing. He was cold, and tired, and hungry, and thirsty, and he missed his bed, and his papa.
That's when he heard it.
Footsteps.
He could feel them getting closer.
In a way anyone who knew his older self would recognize, he waited until his target was in range and swung his bat with all the force his small body could muster.
He expected to hear a thud of his club connecting with its target; instead all he heard was the woosh of it being jerked out of his hand and tossed aside. He looked up, his grey eyes bewildered. Again, he expected a vicious assailant, with angry eyes and a huge build and tattoos. Instead he got a thin man, probably in his thirties, looking just as bewildered with bright blue eyes and a professional looking blue suit on with neatly combed hair and a tie hanging in the young boy's face as he bent over. The young boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the first voice he'd heard beside his own sobs in two days.
"What's a wimpy looking kid like yourself doing all the way out here?" The voice was soothing and calm, laced with a hint of sympathy and compassion.
The boy opened his mouth to respond hurriedly wiping his eyes but nothing came out beside a dry choke. The man smiled again. "You looked awfully sunburned. Would you like to come with me? I can get you some fresh water and food if you like."
The boy didn't dare to attempt his voice again instead nodding quickly his hands not ceasing their constant rubbing. The man smiled pulling a pair of black sunglasses from his pocket sliding them on the young boy's face. "There, now no one will know you were crying."
He took the young boy's hand then changed his mind picking the boy up. "Tell me, how old are you?" This time the boy managed to choke out a sound. His voice was weak and coated with sand, "Six. I'm six."
"Six! My, you're awfully heavy for a six year old! Got a name?" This time the young boy didn't respond. Instead he laid his head on the older man's shoulder inhaling deeply and gripping his coat. He smelled like cigars and sweat. It was an awful combination, but it was comforting none the less. The man, almost trying to fill a void, kept walking and talking.
"My name is Dex, short for Dexter. Always thought it was cruel of my mother to name me that. Speaking of mothers, where is yours?" The young boy shrugged and Dex raised an eyebrow. "Got no home I take it." Dex kept walking coming up on a house placed beside a cave. "Not so talkative are you kid?" The young boy shrugged again.
He opened the door and set the young boy down.
"I suppose you can stay with me. But you have to do everything I say, understood?"
For the first time since his dad left, since his mother abandoned him, since he sobbed in the desert the young boy smiled. His oversized sunglasses slipped down his nose and he stopped crying.
That was enough of a yes.