Imagination Station discussion

Bits and Bobs I've written over the years that I may or may not continue

(view spoiler)[Sometimes Erica thought David was the lucky one. She knew she had no right to think that seeing as she could talk, she could feel, and others didn't believe she was a made up character in a tramatized child's mind. No, she should consider herself lucky, but sometimes she envied David, he could do whatever he wanted, didn't have to worry about what clothes to where, he didn't have to worry about being embarresed, being bullied, he didn't have to worry about anything. He could go wherever he wanted, though he never went far from Erica, said he would be too lonely if he went away, he usually liked to be in the same room.
Her parents used to think she was crazy, sometimes they still do, when she was younger they went along with the imaginary dead brother Thing, after reaching a certain Age they stopped trying to ignore it. She had her first psychiatrist at the Age of 6, her first set of pills when she was barely 7, what followed were the worst 2 years of Erica's life. The pills just kept coming, but None of them got rid of David, because of course he was as real as you and me, but they made Erica feel awful.
Eventually, she just stopped trying. She stopped telling her mother that David thought she looked pretty, she stopped telling her father that David thought he should quit Smoking. She stopped telling her Little brother that David didn't like it when he chewed on his toys. Her parents and very tired psychiatrist, were delighted that she was "growing up" so they didn't really question it. So now 6 years later, she was right as rain, except of course for the ghost of her dead brother following her around. (hide spoiler)]

(view spoiler)[Kaeden lay on the cold dark pavement. Above him a single star flashed brightly against the dark sky. A crowd started to gather around the mangled body. Clutching shawls and jackets they stared at the ghastly scene in front of them. The driver of the car stood of to one side being questioned by the police. Everyone seemed cold and tired and scared. Except for two figures standing near the edge of the crowd.
One was a young girl, around 6 years of age. She was dressed in a simple red sundress, but did not seem to be effected by the cold. She looked upon the scene with interest, before turning to the elderly gentlemen standing next to her.
"Why did he have to die Simon?" the young girl asked.
"You know it is not our job to decide who lives and who dies child." Simon replied, "we simply help them move on"
The child nodded slowly as if she did not fully understand his explanation.
"When your older child, you'll understand. Everything on this earth dies eventually. Everything has its time, the sooner you except that the easier this job'll be."
The young girl nodded her head once more and grabbed the old mans hand. "What about you Simon, when will you die."
"In time child, in time." The old man said as he turned away from the ghastly scene. "Just know that I won't go until you're ready to take over from me. Now come along, we have a long night ahead of us."
The strange couple turned and walked away from the place where the 3 year old boy had just been hit by a truck. They walked right through his weeping mother and disappeared in a flash of light. (hide spoiler)]

(view spoiler)[Ten centuries spent in silence waiting to come forth. Nine decades spent preparing for the fall. Eight years spent destroying everything. Seven months spent praying for the lost. Six weeks spent listening to the screaming of the damned. Five days spent rejoicing with the chosen. Four hours spent starting the world anew. Three minutes spent saying goodbye. Two seconds spent leaving. One moment before they come again. They are coming and the last time they came all of humanity died. (hide spoiler)]

The Fall

(view spoiler)[Emily smiled, it was over. She closed her eyes and took a step and down she fell.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. Emily Owens is ready to end it all, but as she falls she relives her entire life. Will she finally decide that life was worth living after all, and if she does will it be to late. Relive Emily's worst and best moments in the split second it takes her to reach the ground. (hide spoiler)]

Arimeda


(view spoiler)[You always told me to be myself, to never give in to the stereotypes, the lies. Everyone always told me what to do, who to be, but you never did. You were my lifeline, the one point holding me, keeping me from falling off the cliff. Keeping me from becoming the person everyone else saw me as. And now, you're gone.

It feels strange talking to a slab of stone, like somehow this barren rock is you. When they found you, there was nothing left. Just a few bits and pieces. Your family buried an empty coffin. They miss you. Your little sister cried when they lowered the casket into the ground, she kicked and screamed. Your ma cried too, but not as loud. Your dad just stood there, he was always a hard man. Of course I didn't cry, you always told me that no one was worth my tears, even if it was you.

So here I am, talking to a piece of rock like it has replaced my best friend. I probably look silly, but I don't care. You taught me to not care what I looked like, to not care what other people thought of me.

Do you remember when we first met. I was twelve, and you were eleven. It was my first day at school, and nobody would talk to me. The other kids all moved their desks away from mine, everyone whispered, except you. You sat down right next to me, looked me in the eye, and told me we were going to be best friends. I didn't believe you, but it looks like you were right, you always were. It's been six years since we met. I'm almost eighteen, and you would've been seventeen last week.

I feel so alone, without you who am I? You always told me to be my own person, to define myself. You would probably laugh at me right now, you would find it funny how alone I feel. You would tell me that I was being silly, that it didn't matter if you were there or not, that I was still me. I would give anything to hear you laugh.

It's late, my ma'll probably be waiting up for me. She knows where I am, but that will probably just make her worry more. I wish she wouldn't, she has some much to worry about as it is, she doesn't need to have my late night trips to the cemetery to worry about as well.

I'm rambling again, you always hated it when I rambled. If you were here you would tell me to sit up straight, look you in the eye, and say exactly what I came here to say. The only problem is, I'm not quite sure what I came here to say. It's been three months Meda, three long months since you died, three long months since they buried that empty casket, under this slab of stone. Three months since I lost my best friend.

I guess part of me is here to say sorry. I should have protected you Meda. I should have run in front of that Train, and taken the hit for you. You were young, you had so much potential. Me, the only thing holding me to this world was you. I know your family blames me for your death too. They never liked me, hated it when you talked to me. Did you know that I wasn't allowed to come to your funeral, I had to sneak in and hide up in an oak tree. But I had to come, I had to see it for myself. I still come.

I remember when your family first met me. I was giving you a ride home on my bike. You were riding on my handle bars, I was swerving all over the road and you were laughing. I stopped at the corner where I always dropped you off, and there was your dad. What happened after that was blur, you were crying, I was on the ground, you're mom was screaming at your dad to stop. All your neighbors stood at their windows watching. I left as soon as I could. The next day, you sat down next to me at school like you did everyday. You didn't even bring t up. When I finally asked you why you were still friends with me, you said that it didn't matter what your family thought, you wanted to be my friend and that was that. We never spoke of it again.

I always wondered why you were so nice to me. You could have shied away, like everyone else did. Yet, you didn't. You saw so much in me Meda. Everyone else just saw a good for nothing little kid. You saw the real me. Everyone hated me, but you acted as if, as if what I looked like didn't even matter. You made me feel special. All of my life I had been prosecuted, by people who didn't even know me, just for what I looked like. When you hear that you're inferior, a monster, stupid, dumb, and all the other names they used to call me, enough times you begin to believe it. But you set me straight. You said that it didn't matter that I was black and you were white. You taught me that what's on the outside doesn't matter, it's whats on the inside that counts.

How am I supposed to live with myself now Meda. You were my only friend, the only one who saw me for me. The only one who cared enough to get to know me before you judged me. Without you I have no one.

I brought you something. Red roses, you're favorite. I remember after a show, I would always wait out back, because Negroes weren't allowed inside the theater, and you would come out the stage door in full costume and make up. I would give you the roses, and you would smile and say I was being sweet. I loved to see you smile. I would've loved it even more to see you dance. You always looked beautiful in your costumes, and I could imagine you spinning around and around. Rain or shine I always waited by that door for you, and you always came.

I miss you Meda. I guess that's what I really came here to say. I miss the bike rides, the dancing in the rain. I miss you're smile, the way your face would get all scrunched up when you were angry. I miss the way your face would light up when you danced. It made you so happy. I hope there's a lot of dancing in heaven.

It's been hard without you. Being the only black kid in an all white school is as it is hard. There are whispers and pointed looks, and bullies. But, you always taught me to stand up for myself. That no matter what they believed there was nothing that made me different from them, other than the color of my skin. Well, I finally did it Meda, I got accepted to Medical school. I proved them all wrong, and I couldn't have done it without you.

I love you Arimeda, I always have, and I always will. (hide spoiler)]

(view spoiler)[Born on September the first 1764, Daniel was always a bit odd. His parents Margaret and Daniel senior, bless their souls, cared and loved their only child deeply despite his quirks. Daniel was different, special his mother told him. Daniel hated being “special.” When he asked why he couldn't play with the other children, his mother told him that the other children wouldn't understand him, that they would judge him before they even got to now him. So young Daniel was locked away inside his parent's house. He had no friends, save for the two kitchen maids and the butler, and he always yearned for children his own age to play with. He would sit at the window, and look out at the rubble street, with the children playing hopscotch, and ring around the rosie. Most children wished to be different, to be exceptional, Daniel would do anything to be normal.

Despite his imprisonment, Daniel was happy. He loved his mother and father deeply, and knew that they knew what was best for him, so he never disobeyed. His father used to put him on his lap every night and tell him, “Daniel, you are going to do great things, the world just isn't ready for you yet.” Unbeknownst to the young family, the world would have to be ready sooner then they thought (hide spoiler)]

This is the prologue type thing for the Rumpelstiltskin retelling I wish to write one day. I tried to write a short story, but that didn't work out. I plan to write a full novel from this one day though...


(view spoiler)[There once was a kingdom, a kingdom that was run by a very greedy king. You all know the story of the poor millers daughter, the one who couldn't spin straw into gold. The one with the strange little man who came offering aid. You all know that story, but did you know it was wrong. Did you know that there was no straw, rather it was cloth, and it was to be spun into silk not gold. Did you know that the strange little man was not a man at all, but rather he was a young boy. Do you know the real story? No, well let me tell it to you. For this is not the story of the young miller's daughter, but rather this is my story. Who am I? I'll let you decide that for yourselves. (hide spoiler)]

I wrote this a long time ago, still I feel it could probably be made into a pretty good middle-grade book one day.


(view spoiler)[ April 17th, 1896

The waves crashed against the wooden hull of the ship, Victoria. Gust after gust of wind hit the sails rattling the timbers and making the masts creak and groan. The captain of the old schooner, a man by the name of Sal, was strapped to the deck barking useless orders at his crew desperately trying to save his ship. He was a short, elderly man, with a small amount of white hair on top of his absurdly large head. He was known by all the sailors as a tough, but fair and respectable captain. He had a way about him that made people respect him, he was a leader and I personally would've followed him into any battle no matter how bad the odds. But, that day the man who was usually so confident and optimistic, knew even then that they weren't going to make it. He was sure that the crew couldn't hear his useless orders over the noise of the storm and even if they could it wouldn't have made a difference.

Water splashed against his leg as yet another humongous wave struck the ship. Sal looked despairingly at the sky. It was only 3 hours past midday but the storm had blocked out all of the suns light. Instead, the sky was covered in angry black and gray clouds pushing and shoving one another for space, over crowding the sky so that whenever one of the clouds had a chance to move another took its place. Sal was an experienced sailor and had never once gotten seasick, but when he looked up at the sky at that moment the constant shifting and changing of the dark mass was enough to make him want to go to the rail and hurl. Thankfully he did not act upon this thought because not a moment or two after he thought this another crew member did throw up and though he was also strapped the ship he was swept away by the roaring sea along with the large chunk of railing he was attached to.


Sal sadly surveyed the ship. Even through the downpour he could see that the vessel was in ruins. One of the three masts was cracked almost in half and was leaning at a dangerous angle over the deck. Half of the wooden planks, so expertly put together ,were wrecked and the other half was drenched in sea water. The once beautiful carving on the rails was destroyed. In just thirty minutes the monstrous storm had reduced the majestic ship to a simple raft barely floating. He knew that if they somehow made it out of the horrible storm they could never make it to land.

He sighed and looked at the palm of his right hand, on it was a star. The gold symbol made his old sea cracked hands seem like a beacon of hope in the mist of all this despair. He smiled and for once that day he was happy. Sure he was going to die, but he had lived a full life. He was a Guardian after all, the symbol on his hand proved it.

Suddenly an ear splitting crack rang through the air. Sal looked up just in time to see the middle mast hit the ship cracking it in half. He was sent flying through the air and into the cold Atlantic ocean. As he sank beneath the waves the old man had only one thought. That if the ship was one day found that they would know how beautiful she once was and they would know that he had tried his hardest to save her. With that final thought the Victoria and her ever loyal captain sank beneath the waves.

Of the thirty or so passengers and crew on that ship only two survived. You could argue that it was the large amount of magic protecting them that kept them alive, but I would disagree. I think that the reason that young Cora and Thomas lived that horrible day was the sacrifice their parents took not only to save their kids,but possibly everything they worked so hard to protect. You see all the Guardians were on that ship and with them all the knowledge that could lead a future generation into finding what they were protecting. The children were now the last and final clue to a treasure so massive and powerful that it could never possibly see the light of day.

For a long time the children were to drift not lost but protected from society until one day, when life itself was being threatened and there was great need of the Guardians, I would call them and they would awake into a different world where they would have to carry out the task that their parents and all that came before them had done. (hide spoiler)]

(view spoiler)[One thousand seven hundred and forty two years ago

I loved the snow. I loved the way it shone in the moonlight like a million little white stars, the way it all comes together into a fluffy white blanket. Mostly though, I loved the fact that each snow flake was different. No two snowflakes were ever the same. They were free to be whatever they wanted to be. I wish I could be a snowflake, falling softly to the ground forever. There would be no rules, no bed times, or baths, I could simply be.

My brother thinks I'm being silly, he says that boys can't grow up to be snowflakes. I suppose he must be right, he is seven after all. That's a whole two years older than me. He's grown past silly childhood fantasies, as he calls them, I hope I never do. The world of the grown-ups seems so dull. I hope I never grow up.

“Blue, what are you doing up” my brother, Grey, said as he sat up.

I ran hurriedly back over to the bed we shared, and pulled his hand.

“Look, Grey,” I said, pulling him over to the window, “snow.”
Grey looked out the window in awe. We lived at the base of the Erochen Mountains, and while the tips of the mountains were always covered in a white blanket, the snow hardly ever fell all the way down here.

“Do you remember the last time it snowed down here,” my brother asked, I shook my head. I had only been 2 the last time snow had reached are little valley.

“There were huge piles,” my brother said, “and papa showed us how to make a man out off the snow. We rolled giant balls, and stacked them on top of each other. Then we put sticks in for the arms and pieces of coal for the eyes and mouth.”

“Will there be enough snow tomorow to make a snow man?” I asked hopefully.

My brother laughed, “there will be enough snow to make a whole family.”

I smiled and moved away from the window, I reached down to start putting my boots on, but my brother laughed and took my hand. “Not now, silly,” he said, “we have to wait till morning.”

I frowned trying to mask my disappointment, I was a big boy after all. I could wait. With one more fleeting glance out the window, I lay back down in bed. I lay my head against Grey's shoulder as he told me all of the things we would do the next morning with all the snow. Slowly I fell to sleep, my dreams filled with snow men, and snow ball fights.

The next morning, Grey and I hurried outside, but all that was left of the snow was a few puddles in the street. (hide spoiler)]

I don't know what the heck this is I just wrote it.

(view spoiler)[Everything in the house was broken. To an outside viewer the house probably looked well-lived in. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, there were dirty dishes in the sink, ash in the fireplace, toys lying precariously around the living room floor waiting for a distracted visitor to step on them and hurt his foot. The house was so well lived in in fact, that you could almost hear them, the people. You could hear the cackle of fire as a father sipped his coffee his feel resting on the coffee table as he read the morning newspaper, you could hear a mother cooking in the kitchen, bacon sizzling on the stove as she yelled up the well-worn oaken staircase that breakfast was almost ready. You could hear the pitter patter of little feet as a pair of young boys exited a room with bunk beds upstairs and ran down to meet their parents and the day head on, excited because there was too much snow to go to school, one carrying a sled under his arm, the other already pulling on his coat.
However, as you imagine this, you may start to question it. It is late July in Colorado, summer was reaching it’s peak, so why was there ash in the fireplace if it is already warm outside, why our there heavy boots stacked before the front door, and why is there a bright red sled leaning before the door. Then you begin to look closer, that’s when you notice the broken things.
The Lights to the house don’t turn on, neither do the stove or the microwave. The fridge isn’t cold and you to see a ton of rotten food. You want to wash your hands, but there is no water in the sink. The floor boards creak as if they won’t exactly hold your weight, the flower vase on the dining room table has no flower in it, but you notice a small crumpled petal of on the table beside it, it turns to dust when you touch it. You want to go upstairs, but don’t think the stairs would hold your weight, and without light you certainly won’t risk the basement, so you turn to leave this broken place. That is when you see them. You see the smalls back outlines on the wall, almost undetectable in the fading light. One large one painted against the couch, a slightly smaller one against the kitchen cabinet, and two tiny figures against the entrance way wall, one leaning down as if tying on a shoe, the other reaching out with one small hand to open the door.
(hide spoiler)]

(view spoiler)[897 days, 2 hours, and 13 minutes. That’s how long we’ve been here. I have counted every single moment of my life, but the 5360 days, 15 hours and 33 minutes that came before the island, pale in comparison to the years spent on it. So I will focus on that, stop me if I get off topic, my mind tends to ramble. So, the island, that’s what you should know about, anything else is irrelevant. The island isn’t large, but it seems as if it is. From the north beach you can just make out the mainland on a clear day, from the east and west sides all you can see is the water, from the south, well you see the others. The island is hot all year round, when I was younger every year it would cold, not on the island. While forests guard the edges of the beach, the middle remains untouched. There’s a giant circle, where the builders knocked down trees and leveled hills and ravines, to make room for a city. I suppose the city was beautiful once, but it isn’t anymore. It was destroyed in the bombings. Not a single living soul besides the 7 of us, have stepped foot inside the circle, and even then we only do so when necessary. The island is shaped like a rectangle, with sharp corners and straight edges. When the builders came long ago they made it that way, the builders loved uniformity. The trees on the island are tall, taller than the houses of my homeland. I love the trees, it’s amazing how many of them survived when the bombs fell, when the strong structures the builders made fell. I wish humans were as resilient, but were not. I mentioned before there were 7 of us, the 7 you see in the picture I sent, though Missy got cut out of it. There’s not 7 of us anymore. We were smuggled out of the mainland when the bombs started falling, the boat nearly didn’t hold all our weight. I don’t know why we survived, or how we made it to the island, when all the other boats were blasted out of the water, but we did. We’ve been here for 897 days, 3 hours and 7 minutes, we were contend to live here, until rescue found us, but we can’t wait anymore. There’s something dark coming for us, we’ve seen its eyes, 4 of us are dead all ready. We’ve watched it for 154 days, watched it come closer and closer, watched the destruction it’s ravaged on the other islands that we’ve seen to the south. Now it’s here. It arrived 3 hours 6 minutes and 52 second ago, 3 of us are dead already. I don’t know who is going to receive this message, but whoever it is, I beg of you blow this island to smithereens, we’ll all be dead by then, but it likes to stay, to rest, I hope I gave you a valid description. Please, I beg of you end it before it can hurt anyone else. I send you that photo we took with an old camera we found in the debris, may it be are legacy, please let our deaths not be in vain. Here are our names, from left to right, Missy (you can only see her shoulder) still alive, Helena, lived 6383 days, 24 hours and 38 minutes, her brother Nickoli lived 6798 days, 9 hours and 1 minute, me Michael, Holland still alive, in the back Freddy still alive, and on the end Johnny lived 6097 days, 2 hours, and 7 minutes. I have been alive 6257 days, 18 hours, and 19 minutes, sorry 20 minutes. By my estimation I will only be alive for 19 minutes more. I hope this message reaches someone, if it doesn’t, well I guess you’ll know of the monster when it reaches someplace not condemned as a radioactive wastleland.
On a dark square shaped island in the southern pacific, a boy sends out a message in bottle. It flows past the star shaped island, past the sand bar shaped like a cresent moon, and flows out into open waters. The hopes of 7 kids trapped on a radioactive island, being hunted by a monster trapped inside. In the distance there was a rapid burst of gunfire, then silence, followed by a deafening scream. (hide spoiler)]

Inspired by this photo
pic

A Little tid bit (probs the beggining of the Story)


We were all lost before he found us. All alone, wondering in a world too big to comprehend. We were a little like broken toys, old, beaten up, thrown away and forgotten. He gave us a purpose again. A purpose to take down those harming others. A Chance to use the specific skills we had to help instead of hurt. He gave us a Chance at life. At least that's what we thought.

(view spoiler)[“Addie, Addie help me.” A small voice called through the dark house. A small hand reached out of the shadows into the moonlight. It was covered in blood and reached out grabbing at the wood floor desperate to find a hand hold.
“Addie, Addie help me.” The voice called weakly, it’s strength failing. Across the room a little girl lay curled into a small ball on the floor. Her hands clutched tightly over ears, the girl cried, a few away lay a lead pipe covered in blood.
“Addie, Addie help me.” The voice called once again, the hand grasping at the air helplessly. The girl raised her head, tears streaking down her face, but she made no move toward the shadows, as they grew to cover the little hand. The scream of a child broke the silence. The girl stood, her hands clutching the sides of her tattered dress. As she watched a man stepped out of the shadows, his hands covered in hot sticking blood covering his arms, as she watched he pulled out a plumb and smiled and waved at her as he faded through the library wall. As he left, the small voice of her little brother sang in a dead voice.
Mad Man Mike
Mad Man Mike
Likes to watch as you Scream and Cry
He’ll slit both wrists and take both eyes
And make you watch as I bleed and die
H brothers empty eye sockets looked into her very soul as he sang, blood dripping onto the carpet, drip drop, drip drop.
Mad Man Mike
Mad Man Mike
Will wait and watch until the day you die
He’ll eat that plumb, then you’ll be gone
And when you’re dead you’ll sing this song
Tick Tock, Tick Tock (hide spoiler)]

The Prolouge to my current novel, that I am writing

(view spoiler)[On a cool September night, while all the other children were tucked into beds warm and safe with the knowledge that their parents were just across the hall should the monster under their beds or in their closet ever return. While all the other children had a night light shining bright across the room fighting away the darkness. While all the other children were happy and safe, one little boy ran for his life, a parcel of blankets almost too big for him to hold clutched protectively to his chest.
As the boy ran, his bare feet hit the dirty pavement hard and the footprints left in the dirt were stained red. But the little boy never stopped, never wavered; there was something much more precious than himself that he needed to save. He continued to run.
At the same time, a man was walking through a dark alleyway. The man was tall, he wore an expensive looking suit, and as he walked he checked the time on a silver watch. He hummed to himself, seemingly unaware of the danger of walking down a poorly lit alleyway in New York alone at night. In his right hand was a newspaper, the headline as seen through the man’s fingers read, “New York at War.” Yes, it definitely was not the time to be walking alone at night.
But the man continued on his path, his head held high, a bright smile on his face. It seemed nothing in the world could scare him, until quite suddenly. He stopped. The man turned his head and sniffed the air. He smelled smoke, the hot choking smell of ash, and he saw the red hot flames of a fire. It was far in the distance, but it was tall and big, lighting up the area around it like a search beacon. Now the man looked scared, for he knew whose home it was that was burning, he knew and he hoped he was wrong.
Swiftly, the man changed directions, turning to face the ocean, as he hurried, running now, all the casual carelessness having left his face. He hurried along, barly looking around himself as he ran down the backstreets he knew all to well, until with a big humph, he was knocked over. He had run into someone, a small someone. The boy, knowing he had no where left to go was crouched down, trying to look as small as possible and blending in quite well with the wall in the shadow of a dumpster. The boy was silent, gazing back up at the tall man with fearful, yet defiant eyes. They stayed like that for quite some time until a small cry broke the silence.
The boy took his gaze of the stranger to unwrap part of the blanket. A small head peeked out from the gap between the boy’s body and the blanket wrapped tightly around its body. The baby was tiny, barely a newborn. The man knelt down next to the boy, who seemed to have forgotten him now that his little charge had woken up. But, as the man reached to stroke the baby’s head, he shrank back his fearful eyes back on the man as he tried to quite the baby’s cries.
The man raised his hands up in surrender. But as he made to move away, the boy’s face softened. It was no longer on the man’s face, but on his left hand. The man followed his gaze to his pinky finger where, a ring was burned into his skin. Then the boy held up his left hand, an identical mark adorned his little finger. The baby continued to cry as the man stopped and looked upon the strange little pair. His face passing from confusion, to shock and finally to recognition. Of course, they had a small son, and weren’t they expecting a baby. What was the son’s name again, William. That was it.
“William,” the man spoke softly. He had a deep, husky voice, the type of voice you’d expect a very old, wise turtle to have, if turtles could talk. The boy looked back to the man’s face and nodded.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” The man asked, sitting down on the pavement, but keeping his distance not wanting to spook the boy, especially now that he knew who he was.
The boy spoke softly, “She told me to run.” That was all that he said, but the man understood. He stood up straight, glancing fearfully about. The boy looked up, tears in his eyes.
“C’mon,” the man said, “we should get you two out of the cold. What’s his name anyway?”
The boy stood up on shaking legs, he looked at the baby thoughtfully for a second and then as if coming to a decision replied in a small voice, “Peter.” (hide spoiler)]