Child of the Streets
Author's Note: I was noted that a bit of Angel's life story was cliche. So, I revised it. No, I will not revise the stealing-of-the-roll thing. I am a hard-core Les Miserables fan, and stealing any sort of baked good is sacred.
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There hadn't been a colder November since the year of 1997, the year of Angel's death. Like that freezing month, snow flurried to the ground in sheets of colorless flakes, and the wind whipped around Collins' body like a knife. Slowly shaking his head, Tom made his way to his flat, walking against the bitter blows delivered by the fast-moving air. He couldn't wait to get inside where it was at least semi-warm and make himself a cup of hot cocoa. Just the thought of a cheerful, crackling fire made him smile as his trek uphill from the Life Cafe continued.
The consistant beat of a local street drummer hummed in his ear. The small grin on his face lifted even further as his own mind matched the beat. Bum ba dum da-da bum~bum. In his mind's eye he could see Angel's slim hands patting against the plastic pickle tub. The same plastic pickle tub that now sat by Collins' bed, as if waiting for use. No matter how often Tom cleaned it, the makeshift drum still possessed a slightly lonely air about it.
He must've let his thoughts wander, for the next thing he knew he had ran headlong into a small child who was racing in the other direction.
"Oof!"
The youth crashed to the floor, and struggled to regain his wits. Collins extended a hand to help, but became distracted by the sound of an angry voice yelling from the direction which the boy had come.
"You come back here with that roll you little rascal!"
A stout, red-faced man huffed and puffed as he ran over to the two. Collins, instantly taking in both the sourdough roll clamped in the boy's hands and the disgruntled words of the shopowner, stepped in between the two good-naturedly.
"Is there a problem?"
"Hell yeah! That little thief took a roll from my shop! You with him?"
"I, um, well, yes. I am. I had no idea he had taken anything, I'm really sorry. You understand, I'm sure." Collins smiled, and took the roll from the grubby hands of the newcomer, handing it to a skeptical shopkeeper.
"Well...okay. But if I catch him stealing anything else, I'm taking it to the police."
"Alright then."
The man turned, and walked back to wherever he had come from. Collins knelt down, and met eye level with the child.
"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"
"You didn't have to do that."
"Sure I did. He looked mad enough to flog you or something." Collins laughed, and extended a friendly hand. "The name's Collins. Tom Collins. And what's you're name little guy?"
"I'm not little!" The youth puffed out his chest, straightening his shoulders proudly. "I'm a whole six and a half years old. And my names Angel."
"...Angel?"
Collins took Angel's hand and shook it, studying the boy's features. He had a slightly caramel complexion, and expressive amber eyes. Dark hair fell over his forehead untidily, reaching just below the ears in length. If he hadn't known better, Tom would have sworn it to be a younger version of his own Angel.
But Angel was dead, gone, and wasn't going to return. Thinking that this child could even remotely resemble him would only cause pain.
Still...
"Well? Didja get it? I'm not little!" A lightly lisped voice broke Collins' reverie, and the ex-teacher replied with a laugh.
"Okay, okay, you're not little."
"See?"
"I see. So, what were you doing stealing that roll? Why didn't you just scamper on home to get food?"
At the mention of the word "home," Angel's face darkened slightly, and he averted his gaze to somewhere beyond Collins' questioning gaze.
"I don't have a home."
"Really?"
"Yep," The youth kicked a stray stone, staring at the grass. "Grammy took care a' me for a while, but then she got real sick. So then, a big man with a tie took me to a little office, and I had to sit in a big chair that squeaked for a real long time. Finally, after about a milllion years he came back out and told me I was gonna live with these other people that I didn't know, but I didn't like them." The small head lifted slightly, revealing a pursed mouth. "They was mean."
"So you ran away?"
"Nope! The big man said I was s'posed to stay with them, and I did. But then one day they went to, um..." Angel stopped, and thought for a moment. "Oh yeah! The groc'ry store, and I waited a real long time, but-" He shrugged. "So I left to go find them, and...well..." "You got lost?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Yeah oh. I've been lost for...eh....this many years!" Angel thrust four fingers into Collins' face.
"Four years?"
"Yeah! I've been counting! I can count, you know."
Collins chuckled slightly. The child was only six, he believed him there, so if couldn't have been more than a couple of months that he had been lost. Nonetheless...Angel continued.
"And I was really cold, and just wan'ed to going into the shop for a minute because it looked so warm and toasty in there. Then I sawed the roll, and I realized I was really hungry, but I didn't have any money. So, I took it, and was runnin' from the baker when you came and gave it back to him. Now, I don't have anything eat."
"Why don't you hike on back to my house with me, and I'll get you something to eat?"
Collins wasn't quite sure whether it was the right thing to do. On one hand, the kid was young and cold and hungry. On the other, Tom didn't know what the kid was capable of doing. He could steal. Then again, there wasn't much to steal at the flat.
And somehow, Collins knew that his Angel wouldn't have hesitated taking the boy home with him. The ex-teacher could just see his beloved, crooning and fawning over how "darling" the kid was.
"Okay, I s'pose...if, it's not too much trouble." Angel peered shyly at Collins from under a mane of dark hair that flopped over his eyes. The word "ragamuffin" came to mind to describe the child.
"Not any trouble at all."
Collins took Angel's small, slightly grubby hand and held it in his own, guiding him up until they reached his flat. Opening a wooden door, a warm feeling of welcome washed over Angel. Tom let him sit on the couch as he put water on to boil for cocoa and started a fire, placing a plate full of crackers in Angel's lap, which began to be devoured greedily.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything really great to give you," Collins said, back turned towards Angel as he fought with the matches for a few moments. "I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while. I'll have to do that soon."
Silence.
"Angel?"
Silence.
"Kiddo?" Collins turned around, the fire blazing behind him, and an equally warm smile crept over his face. There, on the couch, lay Angel. A dark head lay rested on the arm, an empty plate scattered with crumbs lie on his lap.
The boy was fast asleep.
With a sigh, Collins picked up the plate and set it on the coffee table, before unfolding the afghan from over the back of the couch and laying it onto Angel with almost a fatherly sort of gentleness. Unintentionally, one dark hand descended to brush back a lock of brown hair from the forehead, and the corners of Collins' mouth turned up vaguely in a small smile.
"He didn't even bother to stay awake for the cocoa."
Author's Note: I was noted that a bit of Angel's life story was cliche. So, I revised it. No, I will not revise the stealing-of-the-roll thing. I am a hard-core Les Miserables fan, and stealing any sort of baked good is sacred.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There hadn't been a colder November since the year of 1997, the year of Angel's death. Like that freezing month, snow flurried to the ground in sheets of colorless flakes, and the wind whipped around Collins' body like a knife. Slowly shaking his head, Tom made his way to his flat, walking against the bitter blows delivered by the fast-moving air. He couldn't wait to get inside where it was at least semi-warm and make himself a cup of hot cocoa. Just the thought of a cheerful, crackling fire made him smile as his trek uphill from the Life Cafe continued.
The consistant beat of a local street drummer hummed in his ear. The small grin on his face lifted even further as his own mind matched the beat. Bum ba dum da-da bum~bum. In his mind's eye he could see Angel's slim hands patting against the plastic pickle tub. The same plastic pickle tub that now sat by Collins' bed, as if waiting for use. No matter how often Tom cleaned it, the makeshift drum still possessed a slightly lonely air about it.
He must've let his thoughts wander, for the next thing he knew he had ran headlong into a small child who was racing in the other direction.
"Oof!"
The youth crashed to the floor, and struggled to regain his wits. Collins extended a hand to help, but became distracted by the sound of an angry voice yelling from the direction which the boy had come.
"You come back here with that roll you little rascal!"
A stout, red-faced man huffed and puffed as he ran over to the two. Collins, instantly taking in both the sourdough roll clamped in the boy's hands and the disgruntled words of the shopowner, stepped in between the two good-naturedly.
"Is there a problem?"
"Hell yeah! That little thief took a roll from my shop! You with him?"
"I, um, well, yes. I am. I had no idea he had taken anything, I'm really sorry. You understand, I'm sure." Collins smiled, and took the roll from the grubby hands of the newcomer, handing it to a skeptical shopkeeper.
"Well...okay. But if I catch him stealing anything else, I'm taking it to the police."
"Alright then."
The man turned, and walked back to wherever he had come from. Collins knelt down, and met eye level with the child.
"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"
"You didn't have to do that."
"Sure I did. He looked mad enough to flog you or something." Collins laughed, and extended a friendly hand. "The name's Collins. Tom Collins. And what's you're name little guy?"
"I'm not little!" The youth puffed out his chest, straightening his shoulders proudly. "I'm a whole six and a half years old. And my names Angel."
"...Angel?"
Collins took Angel's hand and shook it, studying the boy's features. He had a slightly caramel complexion, and expressive amber eyes. Dark hair fell over his forehead untidily, reaching just below the ears in length. If he hadn't known better, Tom would have sworn it to be a younger version of his own Angel.
But Angel was dead, gone, and wasn't going to return. Thinking that this child could even remotely resemble him would only cause pain.
Still...
"Well? Didja get it? I'm not little!" A lightly lisped voice broke Collins' reverie, and the ex-teacher replied with a laugh.
"Okay, okay, you're not little."
"See?"
"I see. So, what were you doing stealing that roll? Why didn't you just scamper on home to get food?"
At the mention of the word "home," Angel's face darkened slightly, and he averted his gaze to somewhere beyond Collins' questioning gaze.
"I don't have a home."
"Really?"
"Yep," The youth kicked a stray stone, staring at the grass. "Grammy took care a' me for a while, but then she got real sick. So then, a big man with a tie took me to a little office, and I had to sit in a big chair that squeaked for a real long time. Finally, after about a milllion years he came back out and told me I was gonna live with these other people that I didn't know, but I didn't like them." The small head lifted slightly, revealing a pursed mouth. "They was mean."
"So you ran away?"
"Nope! The big man said I was s'posed to stay with them, and I did. But then one day they went to, um..." Angel stopped, and thought for a moment. "Oh yeah! The groc'ry store, and I waited a real long time, but-" He shrugged. "So I left to go find them, and...well..." "You got lost?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Yeah oh. I've been lost for...eh....this many years!" Angel thrust four fingers into Collins' face.
"Four years?"
"Yeah! I've been counting! I can count, you know."
Collins chuckled slightly. The child was only six, he believed him there, so if couldn't have been more than a couple of months that he had been lost. Nonetheless...Angel continued.
"And I was really cold, and just wan'ed to going into the shop for a minute because it looked so warm and toasty in there. Then I sawed the roll, and I realized I was really hungry, but I didn't have any money. So, I took it, and was runnin' from the baker when you came and gave it back to him. Now, I don't have anything eat."
"Why don't you hike on back to my house with me, and I'll get you something to eat?"
Collins wasn't quite sure whether it was the right thing to do. On one hand, the kid was young and cold and hungry. On the other, Tom didn't know what the kid was capable of doing. He could steal. Then again, there wasn't much to steal at the flat.
And somehow, Collins knew that his Angel wouldn't have hesitated taking the boy home with him. The ex-teacher could just see his beloved, crooning and fawning over how "darling" the kid was.
"Okay, I s'pose...if, it's not too much trouble." Angel peered shyly at Collins from under a mane of dark hair that flopped over his eyes. The word "ragamuffin" came to mind to describe the child.
"Not any trouble at all."
Collins took Angel's small, slightly grubby hand and held it in his own, guiding him up until they reached his flat. Opening a wooden door, a warm feeling of welcome washed over Angel. Tom let him sit on the couch as he put water on to boil for cocoa and started a fire, placing a plate full of crackers in Angel's lap, which began to be devoured greedily.
"I'm sorry I don't have anything really great to give you," Collins said, back turned towards Angel as he fought with the matches for a few moments. "I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while. I'll have to do that soon."
Silence.
"Angel?"
Silence.
"Kiddo?" Collins turned around, the fire blazing behind him, and an equally warm smile crept over his face. There, on the couch, lay Angel. A dark head lay rested on the arm, an empty plate scattered with crumbs lie on his lap.
The boy was fast asleep.
With a sigh, Collins picked up the plate and set it on the coffee table, before unfolding the afghan from over the back of the couch and laying it onto Angel with almost a fatherly sort of gentleness. Unintentionally, one dark hand descended to brush back a lock of brown hair from the forehead, and the corners of Collins' mouth turned up vaguely in a small smile.
"He didn't even bother to stay awake for the cocoa."