After that woman left, another rat—that was what we, the nameless, called the orphans living on the streets—came out to meet me.

The boy was probably older than me by a year, but after long periods of starvation and abuse, his height had failed to grow to its full potential, allowing me to tower over the scrawny fifteen-year-old. He had a wiry, rat-like appearance, his hair oily and long; through the thin, stinking black strands, a dark brown pupil peeked out, his skin tone hidden by the grime on his skin. Bloodstains mingled with dirt on the rags he wore, his bony stature cutting quite the pitiful figure.

I certainly looked no better; if anything, I looked far more wretched, my face still red from anger and wounds still dripping blood.

The boy scanned the streets warily, with some strange expectation mixed inside his gaze; as he did, he stepped over to a nearby discarded rubbish bag, preparing to dig through as he asked me, “Why’d you turn her down? She had food.”

I crossed my arms, childishly sulking. “You’re more than welcome to grab her yourself, Bones. I hate types like her, thinking the world’s a place waiting for you to save it. Disgusting.”

The boy, whose nickname was Bones, continued to dig into the bin. “Hah, Stripes, it was still food. We’ve got to take what we can…”

I was called Stripes because of the scars on my back. He was called Bones because of the ribs that jutted out his chest. 

I replied, “I’d rather die than beg the people I hate. Also, I think the other rats already went through that one, we should try hit uptown.”

Bones didn’t stop his motions of digging. “Nope, uptown isn’t an option. The Hounds are up there.”

Ah.

In our little world of orphans, the main reason why we weren’t handed over to an orphanage or adoption centre—which the law clearly dictated—was that there were many human traffickers—we called them Hounds—in our area. This part of the kingdom was like a cesspool for sin; the policemen, orphanages, adoption centres and most authority figures knew of this and were in on it, accepting hush money to shut up.

It was far, far too difficult for someone like me to get out of the city. If we walked, we’d be stolen right off the streets; if we hitch-hiked, we’d be walking right to our deaths; if we reported the Hounds or declared ourselves unattended children, we’d be sold by the fucking police—

It was really hopeless for us rats, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I said to Bones, “Well, that’s just fine. The Hounds will probably sweep through here later, though. Hide yourself well; if fate permits, I’ll see you again.”

Bones slunk away into the shadows, his thin back disappearing into the dark, filthy alleyways.

Little did I know that today was the last time I ever saw him.

Five Years Later

A man came to my trashcan. 

It was raining, and dark at night; to avoid the prowling Hounds, many a child would find some bin, box or hidden corner to tuck themselves away in, hiding from the hidden horrors that prowled the nights.

I, one such child, had been chased out my usual hiding spot by an older male; as such, I could only put up with the stink of the rotting trash and hide inside.

My heart thundered like a galloping horse; I had been abruptly awoken in my tin cylinder of rot by even, heavy footsteps.

From the timing of the footsteps and their weight, I could guess that the approaching stranger was a man, and a rather tall one at that; their steps approached at a horrifying speed yet were evenly spaced by nearly a whole second. He was carrying an umbrella; I could hear the sound of heavy raindrops smashing onto the plastic film.

He must have been relatively well-off, to afford an umbrella.

But why was he here?

Was he a Hound?

The man stopped just before my trashcan.

I was horrified, terrified. My heartbeat raced, sweat rolling down my befouled skin like the condensation on window planes. I clapped my hands over my mouth, hopelessly begging that he wouldn’t find me.

I wished I could run, but I was far too weak and small to outrun a grown adult man. I could only passively hope that he would walk away and leave me be.

A hoarse, throaty voice sounded above my head. “...Eva Thornhild?”

It was a man.

And I’d been found.

Stricken with a terrible, explosive fear, adrenaline coursed through my body with firework-like shocks, exploding out of the trashcan as I madly dashed for the end of the alley. 

As I sprinted, I numbly felt the burn in my legs, the water dripping into my eyes and the loud ‘Bang!’, of the trashcan hitting the cobblestone.

I ran and ran, only to hear a few hurried steps before my wrist was abruptly seized, my far-too-light body lurching backwards. The world seemed to swim before my dazed eyes; I’d gotten up too quickly and now my vision was rather spotty.

The man firmly grasped my arms before spinning me around to face him. 

He was a tall, middle-aged man, just like I’d predicted; what I could have never predicted was that he was a clean-looking, very refined man, wearing a full-out tuxedo paired with leather shoes. He only needed one hand to restrain me, leaving the other free to elegantly hold up a black oilskin umbrella, sparing me from the rain’s merciless downpour.

He held me gently; I could feel his fingers trembling from some unknown emotion as he slowly, softly, hesitantly released me.

Bewitched, or perhaps enchanted, for some reason unknown to me, I stayed still, waiting in a magical silence for what this strange man could possibly have to say to me, for the strange emotions broiling and boiling in his eyes.

It took me a lifetime to identify those emotions.

They were relief, apprehension, sadness, care…

And a deep, forever-lasting love.

A tear pushed itself out of his crinkled, aged eyes.

His voice was like a half-sob, a pseudo-cry; it was like a requiem that freed his tortured soul. 

He clutched my thin shoulders and sobbed, “Young Miss, I’m so sorry. Young Miss, I’ve found you.”

I looked up to meet his eyes, a hotness in my eyes, a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow.

He told me, “Young Miss, won’t you let me take you home?

“We all miss you.”