Foreword: When you lived in poverty, what does the concept of money stands for you? Well, here's another snippet into Elliot's life before and after Hecate. Enjoy!

The view on money

The dilapidated hallway echoed with the sounds of a heavy wooden door scraping the floor, the fixture sagging from having one of its hinges broken off. Still, Elliot heaved against the door as he pushed it open, wearing another familiar track into the dusty concrete floor.

Panting, he trudged into the hallway with bags of groceries in his arms, catching the door with his foot as he kicked it close. The boy set down the bags and moved a nearby cabinet against the door, barricading the door against any unwanted guests. Once he was satisfied, he picked up his groceries and continued down the hallway.

'Not bad, after selling off the things in that purse and counting the cash inside, I got at least $243. That's at least enough for a week, maybe a week and a half if I stretch things out.'

The ragged boy was happy. This was a good score after two weeks subsisting on nothing more than scraps from dumpsters and morsels stolen from small roadside stalls. On occasion, he got lucky and certain charity organizations did came into town, which gave him the opportunity to eat decently cooked meals every once in a while, along with receiving a bag of much needed supplies such as socks, dried food and toilet paper.

But today, he's gotten the chance to eat a filling meal, in the safety and privacy of his 'home'. While he lived in an abandoned 10-storey residential building without access to electricity and running water, it was at least a roof above his head that kept the elements and trouble away from him.

Reaching his room, Elliot sorted through his purchases. Bottles of water, instant noodles, rice, canned food of various kinds, a few fresh vegetables and fruits. And being today he scored big, he splurged a bit and bought something he desperately needed: Soap.

Tonight, he was going to fix up something filling and tasty. Picking up the bag of rice, a can of tuna and a few bottles of water, he moved to the other part of this floor, where he had made into his 'kitchen'.

Stepping into a large room with a broken window, he trudged over to the fire pit set into the center of the room. A collection of bricks and cinder blocks were arranged in a ring to form a haphazard low wall, with metal bars laid across the ring where pots were set upon. Piles of old magazines, books and newspapers sat in the corner with pieces of broken lumber salvaged from various sources sitting close by.

'Right, time to get the fire started.'

Elliot wasted no time. Retrieving a lighter, he tore up some newspapers and magazines and added them into the pit. Then, this was followed by a few pieces of wooden planks that he broken up by snapping it against two rows of pipes showing through the broken wall. With practiced familiarity, soon a blazing fire lit up the room against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Satisfied with the fire, he fetched a worn-out pot that was missing its handle and got to work preparing his meal. The bag of rice was quickly torn open and added into the pot, followed by the correct amount of water. Putting the lid over the pot, he set it on the hottest part of the fire and sat back, having nothing to do but wait.

Gazing out the gaping hole in the window, Elliot ran a mental checklist on how much he had spent today. He fished out a receipt and went over it, counting and confirming just how much he had left.

'$73.65. So, I at least have about….169.35 bucks left? Guess I could put back about $35 this time. Not a lot but this is just what I've got this time.'

Leaving his seat, he went back to his 'bedroom'. Striding over to a corner of the room, he opened a cabinet and found a dented can tucked behind some spare clothes.

Inside the can, a wad of cash was tucked into a thin clear plastic bag. The boy dug into his pockets and pulled out $35 worth of bills and stuffed them into the bag. This bag he then returned inside the can, which then was hidden back in its original spot.

After stowing his money, Elliot went back to the kitchen. The rice in the pot had yet to be done, so he thought about just how he was going to get more money put back. He had made some progress in saving up a tidy sum but it was far from enough.

'$310. That's still not enough to buy books, forget about enrolling into a school. How am I going to get more money?'

A bolt of anxiety coursed through the boy. There was only so much a 10-year-old boy living on the streets can do to earn a living. Anything that was remotely legal only paid a pittance, and some jobs were hard and dangerous. Selling recyclable materials could only net him a few dollars per pound of trash, with the most profitable being scrap metal like copper and aluminum. He'd never liked picking through trash cans just to feed himself, much less to earn a living.

Then there was the option of working as unskilled labor, mainly in the small shops around the suburbs. Only trouble was, a lot of stores only paid barely above slave wages. Since he wasn't anyone legal, the shops don't have any obligation to pay him minimum wage. Elliot had found in his experience the pay was shit as compared to the amount of back-breaking workhours he was subjected to.

Which led to his current lifestyle. He had ran with a gang of hoodlums who recruited kids to do legwork for them a few years ago. Working as errand boys, they were made to do work such as passing messages and money. It was somewhat risky work, but at least he got paid well after a job done.

The biggest bonus was that the gang was always scheming to earn more, which provided opportunities for him to earn more. He had learned how to commit some crime to earn for himself from an older guy named Tony. The gangster and thief had taught him how to pickpocket, how to steal, how to snatch purses and bags, etc. Skills that were part and parcel of a street gang. It was harrowing to learn how to do so the first time, but he learned quickly. The idea of holding a fat wallet was just too tempting to give up, enough to get him to quash his own guilt for becoming a criminal.

A few years later, he went his own ways from the gang. The older guys were starting to involved themselves into the drug business and even some arms dealing. Elliot had a bad feeling about the whole arrangement so he one day packed his stuff and skipped town. Not long after, he found out the gang had been arrested along with another large gang by the police. All of the old guys were sentenced to long jail sentences and the kids that were caught ended up in juvenile. His mentor, Tony, ended up in jail with 4, 36-year sentences.

But he already knew how to survive at that point. Relying on nothing more than his resourcefulness, he managed to live a legally grey existence, eking out a living through menial labor, occasional crime and rifling through thrift shops and goodwill stores. It was harrowing and hard work at times, but at least he didn't have to live looking over his shoulder or going to bed with an empty stomach most of the time.

'Sigh….I'd better think of something good, preferably without having to break into another home. The cops are already getting very suspicious over the past month after I broke into a home and found nothing good.'

Elliot sometimes wished for the moment where money wasn't the thing he was worried for all the time. He hated feeling poor when he had no money for the day and feeling over the top when he came back with money like today. The emotional see-saw was making him very tired, almost as if he was a slave to money.

Finishing his simple dinner, he washed up the pots and went to bed. While his concerns on money still rolled around in his head, at least today he had a little victory. His full stomach was proof of that victory today.

But all that resets tomorrow, where he had to figure out how to make money, enough to support himself and to put some back for his future plans. Tomorrow was another day, another battle for survival against the lack of money.

How good would it be if money was of no concern to him. Elliot dreamt of being rich and well off as he sank into the pile of cardboard, feeling his consciousness slip away.

"Here you go, kid. Your monthly pay. It should be 8000 Yen all inside."

Elliot opened the envelope, checking to see if the shopkeeper gave him the correct account. Seeing it was all there, he nodded his head.

"Yes, it's all here. Thank you, Mitsuboshi-san."

"Thank you for your hard work, Orimura-kun."

Bidding farewell to his boss, Elliot changed his clothes and headed home. Slipping the envelope full of cash into his bag, he walked home as casually as he usually did.

On his way home, he reminisced back to the times where he fended for himself. On days where he made a big score, he would be over the moon with joy, thinking just how closer he was to saving enough to buy his way out of the street life. Of course, the opposite happens when he earned nothing. The desolation he experienced from returning home empty handed was crushing to say the least, on top of the feeling of gnawing hunger that night.

But now, oddly enough he didn't felt the same attachment as he had with money as during his younger years. After being adopted into the Orimura family and being wanting for nothing, he found his biased perspective on money quite silly in retrospect. Only now was he finally able to learn more of the world around him and find out just what money really meant for him.

In his youth, he thought of it as an incomprehensible but necessary marker that determine how successful he was in surviving. Earning money in a day meant his plan was working, bringing him one step closer to getting off the streets.

Now, he saw it as still a necessary but not overarchingly powerful medium of exchange that had its value determined by many different parties. While money could buy food, shelter and even qualities like goodwill and power, he realized there were limits to its purchasing power.

After all, what amount of money could purchase the access to this good life, the connection to his new family? Most importantly, how could it bought a second chance in life after almost dying?

Placing a hand on his chest, he still found the lack of a heartbeat disconcerting. Yet, feeling his own chest rose and fell with each breath, he knew that he was well and truly alive, living a life he had thought impossible.

Yeah, no amount of money could buy this.