I had an odd dream the other night. Well… Not exactly a dream per say, just a mere vague memory. It was after Dave and I stole bread from a small downtown bakery, so it could’ve been the huge knot that I received when the baker threw his boot at me that triggered the memory. Ah! Here I go again, all distracted. The memory-dream thing is what I wanted to talk about. So it was back when I was really small, like around my sixth winter I suppose. I was walking down the snowy cobblestone walk, trying to keep warm in this woolen rag thing that I’ve always carried around then. I was in search of any stray food, and it was starting to get dark. It’s never good to be out dark, especially in dirty cities where there are criminals lurking about. You never know who you might be stealing from, could be someone who is actually important. Any who, snowy, dark, alone, hungry and walking down this pathetic excuse called road. Suddenly I hear screams and shouts of plea in this alley, and I suppose I should’ve just walked away, but you know how kids are in their sixth winter. And if you don’t then their curious you dummy.
So I walked down the alley and I see some big (thin in reality) gruesome-faced (apparently they got beat up earlier) gentlemen (I was a polite child then, save the being a thief part) cornering this child with these funny smirks on their face. The child looked around fourteen winters, and seemed quite frightened. Feeling this odd surge of adrenaline go through me, I charged at them shouting like a mini hero. (I now look back, and see that I probably looked like a skinny and raggedy child that was probably off his rocker) I punched left and right. Kicked this guy in the stomach and ripped off the mustache on the other. I was on a bloody roll! I took these guys down so easily! … Then I woke up with the boy shaking me, he was beat up and bloody as was I. Not only was I beat up, my wool was stolen as well as my shoes. Who does that?! Friggin’ wankers. Excuse my language, but that was not very nice.
The boy smiled down at me, and said that I looked like I was off my rocker when I charged at the men like that. Well how nice of him to say that to the guy who was trying to save his care-free butt. I just grumbled a ‘whatever’ and tried to stand up. The boy looked at me and asked for my name. I didn’t want to tell him my real name, for personal reasons of course, so I said ‘Jack’. He smiled and said that his own name was ‘Davey’ as if I actually cared. I limped away to try and get away from the queer boy… He ended up following me instead, chatting away as if we’ve known each other for our whole lives, and did not just have our bollocks beat off by desperate thieves. I turned to him irritably and asked him if he has a home that he should go to instead of tagging around me. Davey merely shrugged and said that he doesn’t have a home. A sad looked crossed his eyes and he looked down before he continued to say that he doesn’t really have anyone. No family and no friends to go to. He’s been alone all this time… Just like me. I felt an odd sense of understanding go through me.
There was a small silence between the two of us until I spoke up and asked for his age. He looked up at me brightly and said that he was six winters of course. My eyes went wide as I looked up at his size. He had the body of a bloody teen! How can he possibly be six winters?! I shook my head and asked him in alarm on how he could possibly be six winters if he is that tall. He shrugged and said it’s always been that way. I sighed and walked down the road in search of shelter for the night. Luckily we found an open basement which held a boiler, so we at least had a bit of luxury that night with the heat and all. It’s kinda funny how survival can bring two unlikely souls together and bind them in an eternal friendship.
