Walking through the streets of New York, a skinny, pale boy, no more than 13 years old, searched the rubble of an old local market, in the suburbs of the city, looking for something to eat. His pale skin and light hair gleamed in the sunshine, his light eyes changed from amber to light green depending on the angle at which the sun's rays touched them, his clothes were simple, dark jeans dirty with dust, a cotton shirt with a few holes in it and a checkered orange flannel blouse over it, shabby and worn-out boots, bigger than the boy's number of conventional shoes.
The poor guy was already 3 days out of canned tomato soup and withered packages of cream crackers. His stomach rumbled as if a 6-cylinder diesel-powered engine had dined.
-there must be something here, it is not possible that in the middle of this mess you have nothing to eat; Said Cris as he rummaged through a lot of empty cans of wyskas, boxes of bandages and a lot more of useless and broken things, like scratched lottery tickets and moldy dollar bills next to the dirt.
-I fuck! I thought I would have to sleep hungry again.
Cris cried when he found a can of crushed beans near the foot of the shelf, as if all that dirt had hidden it for him. His label was a little off, so its validity was not visible, but it was food, that mattered.
Cris took out his pocket knife and tried to eat them right there without blinking, after all, validity is just numbers, and math is for suckers.
When trying to open the can, out of carelessness or hunger, Cris ended up cutting the palm of his left hand with the tip of his knife, dropping the can and screaming in pain, his hands shook with hunger.
-put shit! This will take time to heal, I will need bandages. Cris takes one of those on the floor, opens the package, sterilizes the wound and then the dressing.
- better to eat while it is fresh, nothing stays healthy here, neither beans nor people. Cris said opening the can, then looking at the cut in her left hand.
He ate with his bare, dirty hands, without blinking, after all the best spice for something is hunger, and hunger was something that Cris already knew closely.
* * *
Cris no longer knew how long he could endure in these conditions, no orphanage wanted more tutelage from him, several times Cris tried to escape from where he was, and that always resulted in expulsion. The problem was not the escape itself, but the work he did to capture it again. All the trauma of being treated like a dog, like a burden, Cris did not want to be a burden to anyone else, not after what happened to his friend koíos.
-I have to remember to take something to the boys on Bayern Street, I owe them for these days. Well I hope they like old cat food and stinky beans. Cris said with a humorous tone.
Cris felt that something was wrong, there was no sound, not even insects or birds. Cris decided to walk the abandoned convenience store a little further.
- I'll see if I can find any more supplies here, hopefully I might find some antibiotics too.
Approaching a bucket almost full of water under a drip, Cris realizes that there was a certain vibration in the water, and it was not because of the drops that fell.
Yes, he felt the vibration coursing from the soles of his feet and expanding throughout his body, like a dull thud across the city, for a moment the noise ceased and silence took over the old grocery store again.
And like thunder the store started to shake, its shelves to shake and jump. Cris ran under an old table nearby and hoped the worst would not happen.
Breaking through the door was a dark figure, wearing an old, shabby, earthy-colored overcoat and a black suit underneath, tight to the body marking his mottled back, the clothes seemed to sparkle with a certain ghostly glow.
Cris looked at the figure in astonishment and did not dare to look him in the eye, the being called him by name with a throaty voice, like a war drum, his voice resonated throughout the environment.
- come with me child, come with me if you want to stay alive.
Said the creature with a crooked, yellowish smile. His face was robust and with a peculiar scar, shaped like a lightning bolt.
Cris refuses to follow the creature and cries out loudly.
- I already said that they won't catch me again, I won't go back there! With tears in her eyes, Cris sings an ancient song, well before the third war, even before the primordial fire and the dawn of humanity.
- Primordialt lys får barnet ditt ut herfra!
And in a burst of light and the resounding of thunder, Cris disappears from the place leaving behind only the stunned creature and a scorched yew wood floor with strange symbols on the floor, as if were carved in the wood with a magnifying glass and sunlight.