"Please don't." He curled his body up, making himself as small a target as possible. "Please don't it hurts." He sobbed.

The man laughed. He spoke to the boy; there was no compassion in his voice only a fierce enjoyment of the other's predicament.

"You shouldn't have messed with me kid. The warning signs were there plain for anyone to see. It says quite clearly what the penalty is for stealing from me"

The man swung back his foot and kicked the defenceless figure again. The boy whimpered with the pain but somehow managed to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry, please don't kick me again. I was hungry."

He couldn't believe that he had been stupid enough to get caught. He'd raided this place and others many times before. His hunger this time had got the better of him and he'd taken risks. He hadn't checked properly, just because the man usually left at a certain time didn't mean that he did so every night.

The owner of the restaurant was big and very strong and the small human didn't stand a chance against him. The man prepared to kick again.

Seamus Harper was sure he was going to die that night. His ribs burned with pain, his back and legs were bruised. His left arm was definitely broken. Still the big man kicked him. By now he was barely aware of what was happening. He saw the man looming over him getting ready for the kill. The next minute the man was on the floor, the haft of a knife sticking out from his chest.

A small figure knelt down beside Harper. "Shay you all right," the young voice sounded shaky and scared?

Harper heard him through the fuzziness that seemed to have taken him over.

"Brendan, is that you?" Relief washed over him, he'd be OK now, and he'd live a little longer. Brendan helped him to his feet and the two ten year olds staggered back to the relative safety of familiar alleyways.

Harper never returned to that place again. Over the years he wondered what exactly that sign had said. It was no use putting up warning signs; neither he nor Brendan had been able to read.