The boy was small and lean, but looked older for his age. His hair was dark and ruffled, but not in a stylized way, in a messed up way, as if he hadn't known the meaning of a brush up till now. His skin should've been a deep, olive colour but resembled a pale, pasty colour more and his eyes were just as dark as his hair, reflecting nothing but sadness and hurt from inside. The boy had been trudging along the streets of Jersey City for who knows how long now, and whilst his body must've no doubt lost body fat (Something he already had very little of) and perhaps he had gained some muscle, all this walking was doing him worse than it was favours. When was the last time he actually sat down and slept-under a roof, with a pillow and a blanket to comfort him? The boy could not remember. Hell, the boy couldn't even remember when the last time he had a shower was! A week? Perhaps even 10 days? He sighed. What use was it holding onto things you loved when you were never loved back? Or, well, you were unknowingly never loved back?
It was a confusing situation.
Jersey City wasn't that bad, come to think of it. Many people wrongly assumed that it was a place where people who came from all over the world would just be dumped here, in a concentrated area to be forgotten about. But then again, people always assume things. And from the boy's experience, 99% of the time it's a wrong assumption. He thought back to the days when he would laugh and relax and enjoy his time in Hammonton, a town in the south of New Jersey. It'd taken him a long time to get from there to Jersey City, but finally, he'd made it-and even though his clothes were rags and he hadn't had a shower in a while and he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, he felt a strange sense of belonging in this city, something he hadn't felt in a long time- or perhaps he'd never felt it before. Either way, he liked it. He liked it a lot.
Initially, his plan was to get to Manhattan and see the empire state building before he died. Cheesy as it sounded, the boy was genuinely curious and-secretly, had a burning desire to visit different places. Of course, he knew he never would now, but had he kept his mouth shut and perhaps not have played that stupid truth or dare game with the popular kids in Hammonton, then he might've got an education, escaped his past and lived a life travelling the world, getting further than the state of New Jersey. But alas, life goes on and so did the boy, trudging endlessly in the dark maze, not sure what to expect and what not to. If he was alive by tomorrow, he would be surprised. Perhaps even grateful. He finally found an empty bench, near a tree on a main street near a park. Well, at least it provided some shelter. He dropped the very last of his belongings-a bin bag with a black sweater for cold nights like this, two five-dollar bills, which he didn't dare spend (It was the last of his money) and an old picture of the Empire state building, which he accumulated a long time ago and couldn't bear to throw away.
He fell back onto the bench, and stared at the cars passing by. I could've bought a car if I stayed in Hammonton long enough, I could've got a part-time job and started saving up. I was going to. He thought to himself, but said nothing. The boy learned to say nothing and keep a neutral face a lot of the time, showing neither like or dislike was often the best option. And ever since that truth or dare game, his skills of keeping an emotionless face had come in quite handy. When people look down upon you, curse you and make you feel like you were better off dead, they want to see you hurt, they want to see you cry. Unfortunately, the boy had learnt this the hard way.
He had grown up as a strong Catholic and being of Italian descent, his family made sure he read the bible every week, and said his blessings at every dinner table, no matter if they were in a restaurant or in the comfort of their small, messy kitchen. He could remember the music playing in the background, softly by some Italian singer-the boy couldn't remember his name. He was a popular singer, though. Hammonton was full of Italians and Italian-Americans and the boy could recall the singer being praised every other minute. He could remember the lyrics of one of the singer's songs, and he hummed it softly, just loud enough for him to hear, but nobody else, almost as if it was his own secret. The boy remembered visiting Italy once and hearing the same singer there and in a small town just to the south of Naples, he would buy gelato every night for a week straight. The boy smiled to himself, as he remembered on the very night he was supposed to leave back to America, he threw up because of the amount of gelato he ate. Hey, it was good. And it still was.
Thinking of gelato made the boy's stomach rumble. He knew he couldn't spend the last of his money, it had to last him a long time before it ran out, but he hadn't eaten anything at all. And whilst the air was heavy with the amount of smoke and carbon, he could still feel the cold, November air hitting him. People outside were walking past him, as if he didn't exist, and whilst normally the boy was more than happy to go invisible, now he just wanted someone to stop, take pity and give a few coins to get something to eat in the very least. For once though, this wish came true because one person stopped in front of him.
"Nico di Angelo, come with me." The boy looked up, in suspicion, but before he could say anything, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, almost as if he'd been injected with something, and suddenly, the world went black.