The city was in a state of constant chaos. Vehicles roared along the streets, the friction of tires on the asphalt creating invisible but noxious fumes. A moment of inattention was enough to cause any kind of disaster. The skyscrapers reflected themselves in the fading orange of the setting sun, their glass facades holding back the fading light. The streetlights flickered with the darkness that followed. In places, the dim light of lampposts fell on the cracked asphalt, the stench from the garbage cans on the side of the road mixed with the strong smell of car exhaust to create an invisible suffocating atmosphere, enough to make you nauseous if you inhaled it for too long.
Between the two huge towers was a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people to walk. Garbage drums were lined along the edge of the alley, overflowing with filth and reeking of rot. Broken bottles and scattered scraps of paper crunched underfoot, creating a healthy environment for bacteria and viruses. The darkness and stench made the place unbearable; a forgotten corner of the city where no ordinary person dared set foot without littering.
But in the filth, a small figure huddled. A child—or what looked like a child. Maybe ten or twelve years old, weak and starving, skin stretched taut over exposed bones. His torso was bare, his ribcage showing the harsh reality of starvation. His torn shorts clung loosely to his slender legs, stained and worn. Leaning against a garbage drum, he took a slow, ragged breath, his chest heaving unevenly. Fatigue weighed on him like lead, bringing a sense of stillness to him.
The headlights of passing cars briefly illuminated his face: bulging eyes, hollow cheeks, skin as taut as parchment. He suddenly had a strange look that could frighten anyone. Leaning against the drums, the center of the foul stench, he surveyed the alley with blank indifference.
He noticed the presence of some shadows in that lifeless part of the crowded city. Several figures emerged, cigarette smoke curling from their lips, every step carrying an inherent threat. One hissed, "Hurry up. Throw the body away before anyone sees it. If anyone is here, kill them too." The figures' eyes swept across the alley and fell on the little child. For a moment, even the hardest heart seemed to stop. Perhaps it was not mercy, perhaps a few milliseconds of mercy. One whispered, "Boss... what will happen to the child?"
The leader's cold voice answered: "Child. Sir. Immediately. Otherwise, your miserable little life will end here." The boy did not move. His gaze was indifferent, which came from excessive fatigue.
"You have courage," said another voice. "Unfortunately, the boss's mercy is not eternal."
Still, he did not move.
A gun appeared—a .38 caliber revolver. Two shots were heard, drowned out by the noise of the city. Blood spread across his chest. The intense penetration of air into his chest was hardening his body. Intense pain tore him apart, but pain alone was not consuming him. Something deeper, perhaps the smell of death, the real joy.
The memories came unbidden, like shadows crawling through the light. A trash can. The rescuing hand of an orphanage. Winter nights, empty stomachs, cruel words, harsh whips. Days spent picking up scraps, hiding from people who wanted to take their meager income. Hunger, fear, betrayal. Memories of being five years old—food laced with sleeping pills, children fast asleep, a doctor in an apron carrying someone out of a house—came back in pieces. The footsteps faded. Silence returned. Yet, he had survived because he had fled.
The darkness lengthened, and as he closed his eyes, his body collapsed on the drum. One could hear the insatiable spirits wandering in the air, never to find peace again. Maybe it was just a folktale.
The men who had fired the shots came closer. One whispered, "What do we do with him now?"
The leader's voice came through the shadows. "No. Let him go. There's no point in all this trouble. If you try to catch him and stuff him into a sack, you'll have to put on gloves again. Stay here, he'll rot anyway."
The reason they had come to this deserted alley, perhaps some unfortunate person who had been killed in a planned way. they threw the sack into the drum and ran away in a hurry. Because the sound of a siren was coming from afar.
That sack that had turned red and the unfortunat who had never hurt an animal until now had tasted death today. Perhaps this was a blessing for him, a departure from this cruel world