Feel free to sample the first two pages…

Prologue

The Boy scoffed at the weather with disdain in his eyes and shouted a few obscenities he hoped would grab the attention of Mather Nature, so that for once she could feel his wrath. The aluminum trash cans and metal railings sang in unempathetic rounds, bouncing from the tall brick walls until they faded from existence. He knew that nothing he could do would cease the great snowfall that brought him closer to hypothermia than he’d prefer.

Luckily for him, he had found a great spot tonight: a section of an alleyway covered by a balcony of some ungrateful hack living in the apartments above. No one really knew the struggle—a child living on the streets, starving and cold, and never a smidge of pity to hand out, oh, no!

Whatever, the Boy pouted to himself, I don’t need anyone…

He cleared away the thin layer of snow beneath him and recovered his collection of newspapers tucked under his moth-eaten coat and made a nest for himself in the darkness. The uncovered paper waterlogged from new snowfall too quickly. Better than cement. He laid there quietly and wept.

The moon above shone bright, the only friend the Boy ever had—a big and beautiful nightlight, keeping him safe from the monsters and evil things of the world. Although the fat snowflakes fell fast and froze perfect frostbitten patterns on his skin, he liked this alleyway. It felt safe; he felt for a moment, for once in his life, he had a little home. Life, though, always had a fun little way of reminding him that he didn’t.

The next morning, a cool winter breeze nipped his skin; a bitter way to be awakened. The sun shone beautifully, welcomingly, in the sky. Its hot rays struggling against the chill created an oddly tolerable climate. The Boy wandered through the city, going first to his favorite place: the library. The Boy haunted it quite a bit. He took refuge among the dozens of cozy chairs that littered whichever direction you stumble towards.

The woman at the front desk—raggedy and scary looking as she was—was very nice to him. She never hesitated to let him stay for hours at a time to peruse the shelves. Unfortunately, her constant prying gaze and grinding teeth was bad company, even in a child’s mind. That day she shared with the Boy that a man went to space and the Boy laughed in disbelief. To prove him wrong the librarian unfolded the day’s newspaper and let him silently read the front page to himself, “Alan Shepard entered the final frontier, space, one month after Soviet propaganda claimed the same thing.”

He smiled with a glimmer of shame and thanked the librarian but remarked that he would prefer to continue reading his stories. To him, they were much more interesting than the nothingness up there. The Boy retreated to his world among the wooden shelves where he often fell into fantastical tales of fiction, along with encyclopediae of various subjects. He read anything he could about any topic his overactive mind would latch onto, frequently returning to classical orchestral music and medical training—the pictures are always so interesting.

Over the years he spent in the library he became quite knowledgeable about quite a few topics, one being the nasty, old but kind librarian’s name: Mrs. Forde Consequentially, he became as well versed in the English language as an uneducated homeless child could. It is quite natural when you feel that words are your only companions. It never mattered how much trivial knowledge the Boy had; he was always a beggar. He was nothing more than a nuisance to passersby—a leech draining as much money as he could. He left the library and continued until he reached the suburban maze nearer to the corn beyond the city. A small farmer’s market was bustling with too many people and voices and he bought what he could to have a nice meal of fresh fruit. With just a little more pep in his step than usual, he tried to find a new place to house himself for the night, somewhere warm. He strolled through the suburbs into the late evening and noticed an enormous and pristine Gothic manor placed between two distant townhomes.

Story Subject To Change*