Nikko pulled the grey wool blanket closer, but it was too thin, too threadbare, to keep the damp from seeping through. His arm throbbed, a hotness that pulsed in waves. He knew he would see the red welts, swollen tracks to his heart, if he rolled up his sleeve, so he didn't. On the stoop above him, Josh moaned, one of his dreams taking hold. He dreamed a lot on the street, but not Nikko. When Nikko did collapse into sleep, he crashed hard; dreams were for the day time, for when buildings and people emerged from shadow, easily seen.
Nikko shivered. Damn, better not have a fever. If he did, Josh would make him go to the clinic, and then they'd ask questions. Josh, always practical, but no good at lying. Truly a minister's son. Nikko talked for them both, got them out of and into crazy situations, got them their dope, their beds, their money. It was Nikko's idea to head west.
He hoped today was May. April sucked, they'd headed up to Seattle because everyone said April had the best weather, but all they faced was a thin grey wall of drizzle. Sometime this past week he turned seventeen, along with Gemma, his sister. He didn't feel seventeen, he felt thirty, old and worn. Back home, his mother would have fixed him a special meal, usually ribs, baby backs charred from grilling, and the next night Gemma would pick, some girly meal like shrimp salad or crab cakes. But he was far from Maryland, as far as he could go without falling into the Pacific. He thought often of the rollicking waves, of being pulled under, of being weightless and senseless, and as he imagined the swells caressing him, he remembered early mornings at the kitchen table, he and Gem gnawing on toast, not talking, just taking in the quiet before their mother woke but after their father left for the day, the stillness between them, the peace, and then without speaking they would load up their backpacks and head for school.
Josh slept, oblivious to traffic thrumming on the Viaduct above them, to the shuffling of the other kids waking from under boxes and blankets, to the sun edging orange over the skyline. Exhaustion swept over Nikko, a wave, and all he wanted was an instant at that kitchen table, with his sister in the safe dark, but it was morning, time to move, again.
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A slight retread but donated for The CIty of Lost Children cause: http://www.flashfictionfriday.com/2011/09/02/f3-cycle-47-the-city-of-lost-children/
Thank you Thomas and Fiona! Peace...
Linda, the line ". . . as far as he could go without falling into the Pacific. . . ." really reasonates. So many drifters end up on the West Coast.
Well done sketch of homeless kids. Good luck with the novel.
Very nice piece. Enjoyed. Liked this line: "dreams were for the day time, for when buildings and people emerged from shadow, easily seen."
Linda, these pieces are heart-wrenching. Even more so because I know they are based in a reality many people in the world of now would prefer to believe doesn't exist. Bless you for writng this. Super fave.
Fine work, Linda. Good phrasing throughout. Enjoyed reading the story.
I can feel the heaviness of being seventeen, feeling thirty and old. Very well crafted.
Expertly written, Linda. I love "as far as he could go without falling into the Pacific. (etc.)" Nice.
I like how an image from the past seems to ground his mind, despite his physical transience. Beautifully done.*
Nice, Linda. Your characters, pacing, and your use of language all stand out here. *
Linda, good to see the novel progressing with this level of intensity. Well done. *
Needs to be said, Linda. I was surprised to see the many, many of those blankets in the doorways downtown in San Francisco. Hadn't been there for awhile. *
Lovely writing, Linda, filled with such seemless transitions. Gorgeous, and I am thrilled that you continue to give us glimpses of your novel here. Fave.
Dear all, thank you for taking the time to read this sketch, and your generous words. I am having fun drawing out the characters, the story line, the setting -- isn't the most fun dreaming up our stories? But I have not yet begun to write -- this is all the pre-writing, the idea making, the trying on for size. Peace...
Wonderful rhythmic flow to this, Linda. Your control here is masterful.
"On the stoop above him, Josh moaned, one of his dreams taking hold."
Fine writing.
*
Would love to read the novel.
Bill, your generous comment makes me giddy! Thank you for reading and faving. Peace...
Matt, I would love to write it, and when I do, I will send it your way. Thanks for reading my peek. Peace...
Really enjoyed this! Would like to see more of this character and look forward to reading more as you post.
Thanks for contributing and I enjoyed reading your story..so many sad children on the street... xx
Enjoyed the story --
Fine work.