All the Pretty Little Horses

It did not take long for David and Solo to become close friends. Solo enjoyed having the younger one as a protégé, and served as the older brother David always wanted. Solo knew from the dark, faraway look in David's eyes that he was older than his years. He never asked about his past though; it was irrelevant. The present was what really mattered. It didn't even matter that they were homeless, street urchins. It didn't matter that no one else in the world cared to give them a second glance. They had each other. They were family.

Solo looked at the younger boy and asked, "So what do you want to be called?"

David shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled, he couldn't think of any names.

"I'm gonna have to call you somethin' though…" Solo mused, rubbing his still hairless chin. He looked at his younger friend. What could he call him? A few terms of endearment crossed his thoughts until he came across the one that seemed to fit the best—at least temporarily.

"Well do ya mind if we call ya Kid till ya do?" he asked gently. There was a flicker of sadness in the boy's large, violet eyes. A tear tried to escape, but he faked a sneeze and wiped it away. He could not wipe away the heaviness in his heart, though. His older sister, Stella, had called him 'kid.' He hated the way he remembered her. Every time he thought of her he saw her face. It contorted in agony in fear. It overpowered his happier memories.

. "Well?" Solo asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence passed.

"Sure, you can call me Kid," he answered. Solo smiled.

"So you hungry Kid?" He asked. Kid nodded vigorously. He couldn't remember when he had a meal last.

"Well, I'm gonna show you how to get a meal, on the streets," Solo said with a sly grin. "Okay," Kid responded quietly. The two of them walk down the street, passing a fruit and vegetable stand.

"Hey, what about here?" Kid asked. Solo shook his head, surveying the fruit stand. Only one man worked behind it, however, there was a steady throng of people passing it.

"Too many people," he replied. Solo began to walk away from the stand, but Kid grabbed his sleeve.

"No, wait! I have an idea!" Kid cried. Solo sighed. He hoped that Kid's idea wasn't going to get both of them chased for shoplifting. He didn't really feel like running. But the pitiful, puppy-like look in his friend's naturally large eyes melted his reserve. He relented.

"Okay, Shoot." Kid grinned. His entire face seemed to light up at the chance. Solo laughed, he couldn't help it. He looked so suddenly excited.

"See…I'm smaller than you, people wont notice when I'm doin' stuff." Kid began. He paused to make sure that Solo was paying attention. He nodded, indicating that he was. Kid then lowered his voice.

"Well, if you distract him. I think I could get some food." A smile played on Solo's lips. It was a novel idea.

"Well, distract him how?" He questioned. Kid tapped his index finger on his chin as he contemplated the questioned. He hummed thoughtfully.

"Um…Ask him something—make him have to look down, at least away from me." Kid finally explained, once he had caught a hold of his idea. Solo grinned, and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.

"You are a genius, Kid!" Kid flashed a knowing smirk.

"Hey, Sir!" Solo called to the stand owner. The man looked up, looking mildly annoyed. The green-eyed boy flashed him his best, "trust me" smile.

"What do you want?" The man asked gruffly. With the owner's attention averted, Kid began to sneak pieces of fruit one at a time. Solo tried to make small talk; he watched Kid with his peripheral vision. The man was not obviously in the mood for small talk. A bead of sweat formed on Solo's brow. He then noted the bulge of a cellular phone in the man's left pocket. There was no watch on either of his arms.

"Allright, I'll get out of your hair—please, could you tell me what time it is?" His tone was pleading, and innocent. The man just seemed thrilled that Solo would be on his way. As the man pulled his phone out of his pocket, Kid stuffed handfuls of oranges and apples into his shirt.

"It's ten till five kid," the man answered.

Thanks!" Solo cried.

"Okay I think I got enough for both of us," Kid whispered. Solo nodded and the two of them walked into a dark alley, and Kid showed Solo his loot. "Okay, two oranges and one apple each," Solo said. He handed Kid his food, who devoured it almost immediately. He really hadn't realized how hungry he was.

A couple of years passed, and Kid and Solo became closer than blood brothers. Kid had finally gotten used to running the streets. They had become his home.

"Hey Kid! Where are you going?"

"I have some business to attend to," Kid replied coldly. Solo was a bit shocked; he had never heard Kid's voice so cold and monotonous.

"You okay, Kid?" He asked softly.

"Dandy," he answered, not without a note of sarcasm.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

"Don't worry about it, man." Kid's reply was casual, but there was a hint of cool finality. Solo didn't push the subject. Kid kept walking, and his long chestnut brown hair blew behind him in the wind. He looked pretty with his long hair and violet eyes. With his slight frame and soft features, he could have easily passed as a girl. Though he was only seven, he had the posture and air of grown man. Solo could only wonder what "business" had to be taken care of.

Kid returned the next day. His face was clean, and his hair recently shampooed. He wasn't wearing his old, ratty clothes. He wore new jeans, and black T-shirt. There was a small back pack hanging from his left shoulder, and a black beanie on his head. Solo sat in their dark alley. He idly flipped through a recently discarded newspaper.

"Businessman T.D. Peterson Died in Fire Last Night." The article was on the bottom of the front page. There was a black and white photograph of a house in flames. Just above the headline was an even larger picture. Several skeletal bodies were strewn about an ally, and the headline read "Mortal Plague Claims Lives"

"Hey Kid!" Solo greeted cheerfully.

"Hey, buddy," Kid said with a smile. His voice was very chipper--unlike the cold, businesslike tone he portrayed yesterday. Solo was glad. The other tone had kind of worried him.

"Where'd you get the new clothes?" He questioned, eyeing him up and down.

. "I bought them," he replied.

"I bought something for you too."

"Really? Thanks man! What'd you get?" Solo exclaimed. Kid tossed him the back pack on his shoulder. Solo unzipped it, and took a peek at its contents: Two blankets, a pair of pants, a sweat shirt, sneakers, socks, packages of food, and bottled water. Kid fondled the slim lighter in his pocket, remembering what he did to get all of the supplies.

…………………..

"Now, David, you don't want to do this," pleaded a man with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He was bound to a chair. The boy with brown hair ignored him, and ran out of the room. He returned with a fat wallet in his hand. He grinned. Kid hadn't counted on their being so much money in it. He stuffed it into his pocket.

"They'll catch you!" the man declared. Kid placed a white handkerchief over the man's nose and mouth. He struggled at first, but it did not take long for his movements to slow down. He finally fell limp. Kid drug the man across the room, and heaved him onto his bed. Out of breath from the labor, he grabbed a cigarette. There had been a pack Newports on the nightstand. He lit the end of it, and slipped it between the man's fingers. Working quickly, he snatched a bottle of Whiskey from the man's nightstand. He poured some of the amber liquid down his father's throat. He emptied the bottle on his clothes and bedding. The embers of the cigarette dropped onto the soaked fabric and immediately ignited. The flames danced before his violet eyes, casting an eerie light on his dark, sadistic smile.