Sathon crouched in the back of an alley, near the side of a dumpster as rain poured down. Flashes of lightning and thunder made it harder for him to listen to the people around him. There were bums, druggies, and alcoholics around back here, as there usually was. Safety in numbers, but security with a price.
Sath had been on the run for two years now and in all of that time, he'd remained on the streets. Creeping like the little rat he was through back alleys and hiding away in boxes or small crevices to sleep. Always aware of the people around him. Or those who sized him up. He had to act bigger. Be scarier.
In his hand, the boy held soggy bread which he stuffed into his mouth before anyone could grab it. His fingers were grubby to match his dirty clothing and overall appearance. He pushed his back harder against the alley wall and the dumpster at his side. He watched everyone huddling to alleviate the cold. Winter was nearing. He had to move on.
Sathon had been thinking about going to Canada. He'd be safe there. That was where criminals ran. But it was cold there, and he was young. Work would be hard. He'd be stuff in this illegal loop. It was his own damn fault, but even so, Sathon couldn't help but feel self-pity at it all.
Another flash of lightning had him hunkering down and into himself. He pushed his green, beaten backpack under the dumpster before wiggling beneath it himself. It stunk, and it wasn't at all comfortable, but it would shield him from the cold, the rain, and the people. Using his backpack as a pillow, Sathon brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He listened to the patter of heavy rain until he dozed off into a restless sleep.
The bellow of gunfire right near him was what awakened Sathon. With a start, he yanked back but was unable to move much due to his position under the dumpster. He could see a pair of shoes and a dead man on the ground.
Blood seeped under the dumpster, soaking his backpack. Sathon reached up and covered his mouth so any heavy breathing on his part would be muffled. He needed to get to his knife.
"Fuck, oh fuck!" The man (presumably with a gun) said in the erratic tone that came from a mixture of panic and speed. He hopped before getting to his knees and patting down the dead man.
The sudden, tense silence had Sathon looking away from his bag to the outside. The man had bent over on the ground and was looking at him with wild eyes and even crazier hair. They were both quiet before the man sputtered another few curses and struggled to hold his gun firm enough to point it under the dumpster.
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