Author's Note/Disclaimer: I feel pretty bad about this, but I've officially dropped my old storyline for a prequel to "Little Shop of Horrors" because I haven't had much interest in the story at all anymore, and really the small bit of plot that I had was pretty unbearable. This was one of the only two chapters I wrote, and the only good one out of those two. I'm clearing out files on my old laptop Pearlie as well as getting ready for college, which everyone knows is a life sucker, so I have a feeling this might be one of the last couple of Little Shop fan fics, at least for a while. Maybe some other oneshots similar to my old plot will turn up, but I rather doubt it. All the same, I hope you enjoy this sad oneshot. Lastly, I do not own "Little Shop of Horrors", though I do think that I've certainly created my own version of sorts by now with all of these fan fictions.

*S. Snowflake.

The Orphan

The morning quiet was suppressed by the shrieks of tires and car horns in the depths of New York City. Here on Skid Row, only the echoes of the sorrowful sounds reached the inhabitants' ears. It was the cold winter of 1937. A touch of snow dusted the sidewalks. An old, sickly man walked down the street of decrepit asphalt, coughing bitterly in the cold and spreading his germs into the air. Only the impoverished ventured into this lonely place.

A woman walked by the sickly man with much haste. She was very young, only twenty-one, with sandy brown hair that flopped into her face. In one hand, she held a paper with several spaces and dashes on it. In the other arm, she held a bundle wrapped tightly inside a white blanket. She moved the bundled arm up and down faintly every now and then, grumbling under her breath. When she struck a crack in the sidewalk with her foot, the bundle twitched sharply and a small cry erupted from within. The woman pulled a flap of the blanket down, looked within, and snapped, "Be quiet!"

She kept moving once the air grew silent again. She did not want to look at what, or rather who, was wrapped inside the blanket in the crook of her arm, but she did see the face out of the corner of her eye. A baby so small and very fair skinned lay peacefully in her grasp. His eyes of pale blue-grey met his mother's, as if he were trying to communicate to her.

Ma, the baby boy thought. Where are we going, Ma?

He knew no words of speech yet, being only two days of age. He was not even the most developed of children, for he had been born almost weeks early. He reached a tiny arm up at his mother's face, trying desperately to touch her. He had only felt the softness of his mother's bare skin once in his short life: when he had first opened his blurry eyes to the outside world. He had felt safe when he touched his mother that first time, as babies always do feel toward their mothers. He loved her, and wanted to feel her hand patting his back, or tenderly kissing his brow with her soft lips, but unfortunately the child's mother would never show him such kind gestures again.

The mother's name was Lois; and what a story she could tell of the child in her arms! The boy was the product of a romantic relationship with a businessman from uptown by the name of Frederick Krelborn. Lois loved Frederick, but he was not ready for commitment. It was a shame that she was already pregnant by the time that she realized that her lover would not marry her. She considered her options carefully. The first option was returning to her family, second, there was begging Frederick to marry her before their child came into the world, the third option was to have the baby and leave it behind at an orphanage while moving on with her life. Lois picked the third.

After eight months of pregnancy and one painful night of giving birth, Lois refused to touch or look at her son. She was not ashamed of him, in fact, she cared for him too, but she hated herself for having him in the first place. Now that her boy was here, with his sweet face so much like his father's, she could hardly stand to leave him behind. This had to be the cruelest thing she ever had to do.

Slowly, she approached a small building made mostly of wood and concrete. A few stray cracks in the walls leaked wind inside and it shook when a bluster pushed the wall, making Lois nervous indeed, but she shook her head and continued, ducking under a hanging sign above her head that read in bold letters: The Skid Row Home For Boys.

Inside, the home was just as horrid and cold as it was outside on the streets. The stairs creaked and groaned from the wind and their own weak foundation. The air stunk of spoiled food and mold from beneath the ground floor, and Lois prayed that was not where the children were housed. She had been inside the building the day before, but was never offered a tour, nor did she ask for one. She wanted to leave her baby then, but the manager Phil would not permit it. She had to fill out an agreement to leave her son in the home before she could. And so she had, taking the boy and the forms back to her apartment for one last night before she would leave the horrible city.

With a small huff of frustration and agitation, Lois walked briskly up to the sleeping Phil in his chair and slammed the papers in her hand down into his desk, waking him from his slumber. "There, happy?" she growled.

"Eh, what's that?" Phil choked, then saw her face. "Ah. I was wondering when you'd come back. So, you've decided to do it after all. You're going to leave your kid in this Godforsaken place and never see him…"

"Just take the damn form, Phil!" Lois snarled.

Phil sighed and put the form on a desk beside him. "Fine, fine. You realize that we can hardly afford to feed the children. He might not make it being born prematurely."

Lois sighed. "It's better for him to have a chance here than without food or money at all like me."

"I suppose, if that's the way that you want to look at it," Phil agreed. "Okay then. All set. We'll have a bed for him by tonight, and there may be enough mush for one more mouth to feed." He extended his arms and gestured for Lois to put the boy in them.

Lois hesitated, knowing in her heart that this would be the last time that she would hold her son in her arms. There was maternal instinct that she had begun to feel, and now it told her more than ever to hold on tight to her baby. She had to look at his face, just one more time. Slowly, she lifted the corner of the blanket and looked into her son's sad, but curious and inquisitive eyes. His tiny hand wrapped around her finger, and for a moment, Lois felt as if she would hug the child and rock him to sleep, but she restrained and sighed deeply with internal agony. She outstretched her arms, shaking them unintentionally, and deposited the warm infant into Phil's arms.

What are you doing, Ma? Why are you letting him hold me? the baby thought, whimpering to his mother, Ma?

Lois bowed her head in sadness and choked back a lump in her throat that felt larger and more lodged inside than a grapefruit. A nauseating pain flooded from her mind to her stomach as Phil pulled the blanket over the baby's face so that he couldn't see anymore. She knew with that action that if she were to stay any longer that she would have second thoughts about this. All that she could do now was leave a last note on the desk with the boy's forms and walk out. With yet another huff of air, she flung the note down atop the first set of papers and stomped to the door, hoping to be out of that building and away from her son that never was.

"Uh, wait, ma'am! Lois?" Phil called over to her. He watched the woman turn halfway round, but not look back at his face. "Ma'am, what's the little tyke's name, if I may ask?"

She pushed the door open a creak, and sniffled. "Seymour," she replied simply, "Seymour Krelborn."

With that, Lois was gone from the horrible place. All the way down the block, she cried faintly and ran as quickly as she could, never to run back or regret. She would have to leave here and go somewhere that she could not remember the pain. Numb, numb…

Phil shook his head as he watched her storm out, and he took the infant into the back room and placed him in a warm fruit crate for a bed. He had seen Lois' kind before. They were women of good intentions, but afraid for her own future and her son's. Hopefully everything would turn out all right for her, and she would be able to have her own life free now without being haunted forever. Perhaps giving up this life was not in vain after all.

The boy whimpered and began to tear up, interrupting Phil's thoughts about his mother. It struck a chord of sympathy in the man, as all the suffering and lonely children did when he first met them.

Phil shushed him and patted the boy's shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it here fast. Get yeh sleep now, Seymour Krelborn."

The End.