The early morning sky turned into a brighter blue, as she looked down at Oliver, who sat on the doorstep of an old building. His shoes were dirty from walking through mud and dirt, and his bleeding feet could hardly ever fit in them anymore, instead his toes stuck out from the open gaps. His small cap had been tucked to his head tightly, and the peak pulled over so it covered his eyes, as they needn't look around, for there was not much to look at. He was too tired to check his surroundings.
Oliver simply gazed into the empty streets, letting the stillness in the air embrace his body. Though now he was away from the workhouse and Sowerberry's shop, he had no clue of what to do to survive in the city of London, somewhere he didn't know very well.
Despite the fact it was only the beginning of a day, he felt his eyelids quite heavy, and he was afraid that they might shut any moment, like the window blinds of every house in sight. Before he thought of falling into a sleep once more, an old man appeared at the edge of his eye.
"Ah, what a hard life!" he exclaimed, eyeing Oliver from the street. He had a long beard of a brownish-red color, a top hat sitting on his head, and a heavy coat covering his body, which lined his slightly hunched back. "A hard life for a child!" he repeated. "How miserable he looks!"
For a moment Oliver wasn't quite sure whether the husky voice was talking to him or not, but when he raised his head to look, the old man had already strode off, with the end of his coat flapping behind as he waved his cane, and the last of his lament drifted away.
There was only a moment of silence, just before the town woke up to greet the day, and the shutters were finally opened. The streets were once again filled with people, coaches, and all that noise they made.
That was when he met the boy who introduced himself as the Artful Dodger.
Author's Note: I know. Even writing a scene, it seems like there's not enough description. It's short and everybody hates me, and please tell me if you do.
