Chapter 1: Molly

A little girl, not more than eight years old, ran through an empty street, her hand clutched tightly around the loaf of bread she held as if it were her lifeline. Her crimson eyes darted behind her, searching for whatever it was she was fleeing from.

Her strides shortened as she passed through a more secluded area, the kind of place richer folk usually called the slums. Her chest rose and fell with the effort of her flight; her breath came in ragged gasps of pure exhaustion.

She stumbled, losing her footing for a heartbeat, but instantly picked up her pace and kept running.

With another sharp turn, she pivoted, darting into a more hidden corner, almost near the sewer’s edge.

Still heaving, she peeked out from behind the wall. She rubbed at the dark circles beneath her eyes and glanced back along the path she had come from. Seeing nothing in pursuit, a deep sigh of relief escaped her, and she slumped powerlessly against the hard ground.

Her stomach sang its familiar, aching song, reminding her sharply of her predicament. She did not wait any longer. She began to eat the bread greedily, careful not to let a single crumb slip through her fingers. She could not afford to waste even a morsel of such precious food.

Before she was halfway through the loaf, something fell just a few meters away from her, making her jolt in shock.

It was a young boy, perhaps twelve years of age. He seemed more bone than human, so terribly thin was he. She herself was skinny, of course, so the sight was not entirely foreign. What made her want to flee, however, was the way the boy crawled toward her weakly, using every last bit of strength he could muster to drag himself closer while forcing words from his mouth. “…Food… Please.”

At that single word, the little girl scrambled instantly to her feet, clutching the half loaf of bread tightly against her chest while shaking her head in defense. “A…ase..nuU.” She tried to force out the words. She knew she could not truly speak, just to make her clear rejection known.

But a faint frown crept onto her face when she noticed the boy did not reply. He did not even lift his head again. He simply lay there.

Hesitantly, she stepped closer to him, then gave him a quick tap before retreating backward just as fast.

She paused again, tilting her head to the side to get a better view of his face. She noticed his expression was entirely blank, his eyes only partially open, staring distantly, almost… lifeless.

Her frown deepened as she decided to approach the prone body once more. Once close enough, she leaned down and poked his back. There was no response. She poked his neck. Still nothing.

She glanced at her remaining bread, then back at the boy, then at the bread again. A sigh slipped past her lips. She shifted the loaf into her left hand, and using her right arm and all the strength in her small body, she managed to roll him over so his back was against the ground.

She placed her head upon the boy’s chest, checking for any sign of a heartbeat. She did not truly understand what she was doing, but she did not care. She had seen a group of adults perform this same act on others who had suddenly collapsed.

She leaned in closer, studying his pale face, his onyx-black hair, and his dried lips, which looked as though they had not tasted food in days, perhaps a week or more. She did not know the details. All she knew was that the rest of her bread was no longer meant for her.

She needed to help him.

She hurried over to a corner that was covered by a pile of rag clothes. She unfolded the cloth and retrieved a wooden cup filled a little more than halfway with water. A small, private grin touched her lips. She had filled this cup with fresh rainwater just the night before, saving it for herself to drink. A pang of regret still lingered, though. She should have stayed out in the rain a little longer so the cup would be full, at least enough to be shared between two people.

She took only a small sip from the cup before padding her way back to the young boy who lay almost lifeless on the floor.

She leaned forward and tried to open his mouth, but his teeth were clenched tight. She sighed, setting the cup down beside her along with the remaining half loaf of bread. Using both of her hands, she pried his jaw open, unclenching his teeth with a soft groan of effort.

She bit back another complaint before sighing in relief as his mouth finally parted.

She proceeded to give the unconscious boy water first, pouring it gently into his mouth. She paused afterward, waiting for a response, any response at all.

And she received one. The boy’s throat moved slowly at first, and then he began to drink greedily, only to cough harshly as the liquid went down the wrong way.

The little girl patted his chest, a smirk of pride spreading across her face. She had managed to bring him back to consciousness.

The boy’s hazel eyes, still unable to focus clearly, stared weakly at the face hovering above him. He felt a few light, consecutive slaps upon his cheek, and moments later, something soft and soaked was placed into his mouth.

His eyes widened with realization. The girl was feeding him bread, bread softened by the water. His mouth began to devour the morsel like an animal starved for far too long.

The little girl watched all of this, a small lopsided curl on her face as she continued to soak pieces of the loaf and feed them to him until the bread was completely finished. After that, she waited a few more minutes until the young boy could sit up weakly. She handed him the cup with the remaining water, which he accepted with gratitude and drank down entirely.

Once he was done, he gave the cup back to her. She took it and immediately walked back to the corner, hiding it once again beneath the rag clothes.

She returned to where the boy sat, but found herself frowning and halting in her steps. He was staring at her blankly.

She leaned in and waved a hand in front of his face before he finally snapped out of his daze.

“S-sorry!” he said, his face turning red with embarrassment as he bowed his head repeatedly. “Thank you for saving me.” He concluded, slowly straightening his posture.

The little girl simply stared at him for a few moments before shaking her head and sitting down nearby.

Minutes passed, and neither of them spoke a word, save for the occasional glances she cast toward the boy, who always seemed distant, lost somewhere inside his own thoughts.

When he finally noticed her watching him, he smiled weakly and cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Roland.” He extended his hand for a handshake. “What’s yours?”

The young girl raised a brow at the sight of his outstretched hand. She stared at it for a moment before finally shaking it and responding to his question with a simple shrug.

After retracting his hand and seeing his inquiry answered only by that gesture, Roland could not help but frown. “You don’t know your name?”

She shook her head to indicate no.

Seeing her answer without speaking, his frown deepened, confusion etched across his features. “You… don’t want to talk?”

She shook her head again. Then she lifted a finger, pointed it at her mouth, and opened it as if trying to speak. After the attempt, she shook her head once more.

Roland placed a hand on his chin, deep in thought. His expression soon brightened with understanding. He turned to her. “You can’t talk?”

She nodded eagerly, her face lighting up.

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Seeing the confirmation, a worried look settled on his face. “You live here alone?”

She nodded.

His frown grew. “For how long?”

She considered the question for a moment, then shrugged.

“Then…” Roland’s voice trailed off as he examined the place where they currently sat. This secluded corner was far too close to the sewer. The foul stench of stagnant water reached their noses, and the chill, damp air was alive with mosquitoes and all manner of crawling insects.

He turned back to her. “How are you surviving here?”

The little girl stiffened slightly at that word. She had never really considered it. She did not care to. All she knew was that after the lady who had once looked after her passed away, she had been on the streets for as long as she could remember, constantly struggling for something to eat just to see the next sunrise. So she had not stopped to ponder how she managed to keep living.

She glanced at Roland and offered another shrug. There was no special trick to her survival.

Roland opened his mouth, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but he decided against it and closed his lips again.

After that, they sat in silence, neither one saying anything. The little girl giggled softly to herself, blowing at the white symbols that floated in the air around her. Roland, however, watched her with a raised brow, wondering what it was she kept blowing at, for he could see nothing at all. Eventually, he dismissed the thought, and sleep claimed him out of sheer exhaustion.

The little girl continued to play with the symbols until her eyes widened. She perked up instantly, the cool, earthy scent of rain entering her nose, followed by the faint pitter-patter of droplets striking the ground.

It was already raining.

Her expression brightened at the thought of the water she could collect. She bolted upright and ran to the corner covered in rags, retrieving the wooden cup from its hiding spot.

Her eyes briefly glanced at the sleeping Roland for a moment before her gaze returned to her destination.

She peeked out from the edge of the wall, scanning the slum’s empty street. Seeing no one around, she walked out into the center of the rain and lifted her wooden cup toward the sky, letting the raindrops fall into it.

Abruptly, a rough cough escaped her. She used her free hand to cover her mouth until the spasm subsided.