"Running, that's all I remember" a pale boy, dirt covered, "is running and nothing else?" repeats the office at the downtown police station.
He looks down at him seated on a rickety wooden bench against the wall and turns to his partner beside him.
"Ye- I don't know what to make of this, honestly, Jim" he informs in a thick English accent.
"Where's ye parent's boy?" He looks over to the frail frame of the boy in tattered white garments.
"You know of my Dad, 'round the station"
"Okay so then what would your Dad say about your frolicking around the wood bend, aye?" a query though clearly rhetorical, the boy answered anyway.
"Not that you would care, you'll kick off down at the pub, snog pints like fish out of water and clock in five days later" a cold and stone-faced expression, that of a Commander or Sergeant scolding his cadets. One, contrary to his stature at the moment, of a slim fourteen-year-old boy.
"Oi, pipe down boy before you catch a senseless beating 'cause of that mouth of yours," The officer referred to as 'Jim' retorts and motions him to follow after them.
They drive down to a neighbourhood of two-story brick flat buildings and eye a woman pensively waiting at the front door.
The boy hung his head, dragged his mud soiled white trainers up to her. She looked down at him, and let out a sigh of relief.
"Boy, let us know if you remember anything else. We'll be sure to stop on by to check on ya' and the Mrs." the officer yelled out his driver's window.
"Pipe down, you fat lards!" he turned to sneer at their comment, clearly directed towards his mother. She yelled his name in response, slapping the fluff of his dirt covered hair.
"We'll be sure to call in, if anything turns up, officers. Cheers!" She calls over to them as they ready to drive off.
"Yes ma'am!" in unison as they leave, and one exclaims, "She's proper, innit?"
"Fat lards, you do know that's the same thing," she queries with a raised eyebrow and adds, "Look at you, covered in dirt and Lor' knows what!" patting down on his once white soccer uniform.
"Ye, that's one for each of them" he retorts and wraps his arms around her waist. She was curvy and well poised, mother of three and caretaker for both her in-laws. Her dark chestnut hair in waves along her shoulders, stained apron wrapped around her waist and dish cloth over the shoulder.
"Always having an answer for everythin' mm?" she snickers, and he grips tighter in his hug.
"Hey, what's wrong?" a calmed coercing and brushing her fingers through his hair, a tiny creature pokes its head through, and startles her.
"What, mum, what's it?" He tosses, looking around for any danger.
"What are you so jumpy about, dear? It's a mealworm, look" it wraps around her finger, in search of safety.
"Were you going through the wood bend again?" with pursed lips and stern expression. She orders him to take a proper bath and if not done correctly she'd help.
"No! Mum, I can do it myself, alright" he groans and walks from the front door, leading straight to trudging upstairs. The interior inside was just as small as it was designed outside. A block building of eight rooms in total and home to seven occupants of the Oswald family.
The bathroom on his left, shone an orange glow from the door creaked slightly open. He peered inside, not wanting to catch a threat of beatings from his older siblings or aunt.
Empty, he steps inside, locks the door and stares into the mirror. On one side of him, a shadowy figure peers from behind him. He turns around, frantic, and calls for his mother downstairs.
"On second thought, Mum, you can help-" his request cut off by a burly man.
"Sorry Dad," stumbling back and rubbing the top of his nose that stung from the collision.
"What do you need your mother for?" a gruff query.
"You should be ol' enough to have a bath yourself, aye?" staring down at him, he looks up and counters, "I can have a bath myself, it just looks like there was somethin-"
"And if there is, you'll put your mother in danger instead-?"
"No!" he sternly interjects.
"Don't raise your voice at me, boy," he kneels down slightly, meeting him at his level.
"You might not hear me otherwise," matter-of-fact manner, and his father chuckles, ruffling the top of his hair.
"I hear you, boy." his heavy footsteps heard above him in the bathroom, checking it and calls down to him.
"All clear!"
By the time he reaches upstairs, his father closes the door to their room.
"Thank you," he whispers and merrily shuts the door to the bathroom.
The next morning at school, a usual fight broke out, and he rushes over to intervene, recognizing the occupants.
"Alan! What- are you- doing?" he huffs, pulling at the boy's school shirt.
"Get off, his been winding me up since yesterday!" the boy pulls back and proceeds to collide with a boy on the ground.
"Why didn't you tell them 'bout what happened yesterday, we almost lost the path back there?" he hiccups and adds looking up, "You too, you could've told the police,"
"Those lard arses wouldn't have done nothin' okay?" he fumbles to down to the ground with them.
"What are you doing?!" a woman screeches, and they froze in fear at the familiar sound. In unison, they bolt up and run past her, headed to the open field.
"Is that him?" a group of girls snickers.
"Yeah, he's got like that prince vibe to him, you know?"
"Who Alan?"
"Course not!"
"Oh, him, yeah he does, but like he doesn't talk much and usually when he does he-"
"So you mug me off and told them I was lying?" a fourth boy joins them and queries.
"No, I didn't say nothin' Crowley," arms up in air, and they walk alongside each other on the school's rugby field.
"Yeah, so, how come you never crack on with girls and stuff?" Crowley asks him, changing the subject of the conversation they overheard.
"His too busy calling their father's fat lards," he retorts, dusts himself off and props on his glasses.
"Ima kill ye' if my glasses got smashed," he turns to the boy he'd been fighting with.
"Yeah, is that threat future or past tense, Morris?" and their groups chuckles.
"Listen ye, we have to keep what happened a secret from the adults. It's not like-" the boy starts off.
"They'll never believe us," the three interject.
"That thing was mad," Morris exclaims.
"Not being funny, but, I'm pretty sure it wanted to eat you," Crowley states and avoids eye contact.
"Me!"
"Ye, you so scrawny prolly thought-" he continues his insult, though shortly cut off.
"Nah, I'm sure it was him, Prince boy's lookin' like his hanging on for dear life," Alan snickers, and steers clear of his friend intense gaze.
"Sure, his taller than us," Crowley attempts to wrap an arm around his shoulder.
"Early growth spurt, is all" Alan defends.
"But, he stills has that mouth on him, you know what I mean?" Morris concludes.
"Prolly be the first minster or president of Shitsville, I mean Smithville, slip of the ol' tongue"
"I don't think that's how it works,"
"Sort out that villainy hound down the wood bend in Colchester while you're at, Colester," Morris, with hand over heart, singsongs, and they chuckle.
"Hey, that rhymes!"
"Ye sure," Alan rolls his eyes.
"Ye don't worry 'bout it guys, I'll get rid of it and save the day," Cole proudly announces and one of them whispers, "Ye right sure, you'd run off and leave us for dead," and their cackles echo, meeting up with the school bell for the start of the day.