The boy walked through the darkness, his bare feet dragging against the cold stone floor as he struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Every step felt heavier than the last, and although he couldn't remember how long he'd been walking, he knew he couldn't keep going much farther.
The church was enormous, its high ceiling disappearing into the shadows above him. Rows of wooden pews stretched across the hall, though few remained where they were supposed to be. Some had been overturned, their legs sticking awkwardly into the air, while others had been pushed together or dragged toward the walls, leaving long scratches across the stone floor. Several lay broken, their splintered remains scattered among discarded books and loose pages that had been trampled beneath countless feet.
Clothing was strewn throughout the church, some hanging over the backs of pews, others piled beneath them or abandoned in the aisles. Shirts, coats, trousers, and blankets lay tangled together, their original colors almost impossible to distinguish beneath the dirt. Dark, dried stains covered much of the fabric, and in some places, the blood had soaked so deeply into the material that it had stiffened.
The air smelled of damp stone, unwashed bodies, and something rotten that had long since been forgotten.
The boy wrapped his arms around himself as he continued walking, his thin clothing doing little to protect him from the cold that seemed to seep directly through his skin. His fingers had grown stiff, and every breath escaped his lips in a faint cloud that quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Somewhere ahead, a warm orange glow spilled through an open doorway, accompanied by the distant sound of voices drifting from the hallway beyond it.
He couldn't make out what they were saying, only the occasional rise and fall of conversation accompanied by footsteps and the scraping of something heavy against the floor. Every so often, someone laughed, though the sound was weak and strangely hollow, as though whoever made it had forgotten what there was to laugh about.
The boy kept his head down and continued walking, making sure to stay away from the hallway. His legs trembled beneath him, and the dull ache spreading through his stomach had become so familiar that he could barely remember what it felt like to be without it. Hunger wasn't something that came and went anymore. It was simply there, a constant gnawing sensation that followed him everywhere, growing worse whenever he moved and refusing to disappear even when he lay perfectly still.
He pressed one hand against his stomach, wincing as another painful cramp twisted through his abdomen.
But he had something.
His fingers tightened around the small object hidden between his palms, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a faint sense of relief passed through him.
He just needed somewhere quiet.
Somewhere nobody would notice.
His eyes wandered across the ruined church until they settled on a small patch of light near the far wall.
High above, several stained glass windows remained intact, their colored panes depicting figures whose faces had become difficult to recognize beneath the accumulated dirt. Some of the glass had shattered, leaving jagged openings through which the cold air slipped, while others still caught the sunlight filtering in from outside.
Thin beams of red, blue, and gold stretched across the stone floor, illuminating the dust drifting lazily through the air.
The boy stared at them.
Sunlight.
He slowly made his way toward the far wall, carefully stepping around the overturned pews and discarded clothing until he reached the small patch of warmth beneath the windows.
The difference was slight. The stone remained cold, and the air still bit against his exposed skin, but when he stretched one trembling hand into the sunlight, he could feel a faint warmth against his fingers.
He stood there for a moment, allowing the light to fall across his face before slowly lowering himself to the ground, his knees nearly giving out before he could properly sit.
His back settled against the wall, and he drew his legs toward his chest, positioning himself so that as much of his body as possible remained within the narrow patch of sunlight.
It wasn't much, but it was warmer.
For several seconds, he simply sat there, listening to the voices drifting from the hallway while his heartbeat pulsed painfully through his temples.
Nobody seemed to be approaching.
Good.
He lowered his gaze toward his hands.
His fingers had been clenched so tightly that his knuckles ached, and when he tried to straighten them, they resisted, stiff from holding the same position for so long.
Slowly, he began opening them.
Just a little.
A faint smell reached his nose.
Stale.
Sour.
But familiar.
His stomach twisted painfully, and he swallowed as saliva gathered beneath his tongue.
Finally...
He was about to open his hands completely when something interrupted him.
Footsteps.
The boy froze.
They came from the hallway, accompanied by the faint scraping of shoes against stone.
At first, he assumed whoever it was would simply pass by. People moved through the church all the time, and most had little reason to venture toward the far end of the hall.
But the footsteps stopped.
He slowly raised his head.
A figure stood in the doorway.
The orange light behind him concealed most of his features, leaving only the outline of a thin, hunched body and a pair of shoulders that rose and fell with each labored breath.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then the figure's head turned toward him.
The boy's fingers tightened.
The figure took a step forward, followed by another.
The boy remained perfectly still, hoping the shadows surrounding the scattered pews would conceal him before the stranger could get a better look.
But then the figure began moving faster.
His footsteps quickened, the scraping of his shoes becoming louder as he crossed the church.
The boy's heart lurched.
...What?
The man was coming straight toward him.
He instinctively pulled his hands closer to his chest.
The figure broke into a run.
"HEY!"
The boy barely had time to react before the man lunged.
"AH-!"
His body crashed into the boy's, and the back of his head struck the wall as a pair of rough hands shot toward his closed fists.
He yelped, twisting away as the man's fingers scraped across his face, his nails catching the skin near his cheek before grabbing at his wrists.
"OPEN THEM!"
The man's voice was hoarse and strained, the words coming out between desperate breaths.
The boy recoiled, raising his hands above his head while trying to push himself farther into the corner.
"GET OFF!"
The man didn't listen.
Instead, he climbed over him, one knee pressing against the boy's thigh as he reached for his hands again.
The boy twisted sideways, trying to keep them out of his reach, but the man caught his right wrist and pulled it down with surprising force.
"WHAT'VE YOU GOT?!"
"NOTHING!"
"LIAR!"
The man's other hand shot toward his face, and although the boy jerked his head away, his nails still scraped along his jaw before catching the side of his neck.
"AH! STOP!"
He kicked at him, his heel striking the man's leg, but the stranger barely reacted.
He was old.
The boy could see that now.
His face was gaunt, with deep wrinkles cutting across his cheeks and forehead, while a patchy gray beard clung to his chin. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles that made them appear almost hollow.
His clothes hung loosely from his shoulders, and every breath rattled through his chest as though his lungs were struggling to keep up.
He looked terrible.
But his grip was strong.
Much stronger than the boy had expected.
The man grabbed his wrist with both hands and began pulling, trying to drag his fist away from his body.
"OPEN IT!"
"NO!"
The boy pulled back as hard as he could, his shoulders trembling from the effort, but the moment he tried twisting his wrist free, the old man adjusted his grip, turning his arm at an awkward angle that sent pain shooting through his elbow.
"AGH!"
His body followed the movement before he could stop it, allowing the old man to force his arm downward. The boy tried grabbing the man's wrist with his free hand, but the old man struck it aside with his forearm and drove his shoulder into the boy's chest.
The impact knocked the breath out of him.
"GH-!"
The old man wasn't simply stronger.
He knew what he was doing.
Every time the boy tried pulling away, the man shifted his weight to follow him. Whenever he attempted to push him off, the old man moved just enough to make the effort useless, using the boy's own movements to drag him farther out of position.
And yet, the man was clearly exhausted.
His arms trembled, his breathing was ragged, and sweat dripped from his chin onto the boy's clothes.
But he didn't waste his strength.
The boy did.
He pulled with everything he had, trying to wrench his arm free through sheer force, only for the old man to turn his wrist again and force him sideways.
His shoulder struck the floor.
"AH!"
"LET GO!"
"NO!"
The man drove his knee into the boy's side, sending a sharp burst of pain through his ribs. The boy gasped, his body curling instinctively around the impact, but even as the old man reached for his other wrist, he refused to open his hands.
Now the man had both.
He forced the boy's hands together, trying to pry his fingers apart with his thumbs, but the boy screamed and pulled back, digging his heels against the floor as he desperately tried to keep his fists pressed against his chest.
For several seconds, neither managed to gain an advantage. Their arms shook violently from the effort, and the old man's face hovered mere inches above the boy's, close enough for him to see the crooked, yellowed teeth lining his mouth, several blackened with decay while others had rotted away entirely. Sweat gathered along the deep wrinkles of the man's forehead before running down his hollow cheeks, dripping from his chin and splattering against the boy's face as they continued struggling.
"OPEN YOUR DAMN HANDS!"
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
The boy twisted violently, managing to wrench one arm free before swinging his fist toward the man's face. His knuckles struck the old man's cheek, turning his head slightly, but the blow carried so little strength that it barely seemed to hurt him.
For one brief moment, the boy thought he'd managed to stop him.
Then the old man slowly turned back.
"You little-!"
His expression twisted as he struck the boy's arm aside and drove his forehead toward him, catching the side of his face before he could move away. A burst of pain flashed behind the boy's eyes, and before he could recover, the man seized his shirt and hauled him forward, dragging him away from the wall before throwing him hard against the stone floor.
The boy struck the ground shoulder-first, his hip following a moment later as he desperately tried rolling away. The old man's boot caught his leg before he could escape, and a sharp kick to his thigh sent another wave of pain through his body.
"STOP MOVING!"
Another kick struck his side.
"GH-!"
The boy curled inward, keeping his hands pressed tightly against his chest while the man bent down to grab them again. Before he could reach him, the boy kicked upward with both legs, one foot catching the old man's stomach hard enough to make him stumble backward.
The man doubled over, coughing violently as he reached toward a nearby pew for support. His chest heaved with every breath, and for several seconds, he remained hunched over, struggling to straighten himself.
The boy watched him.
...He's tired.
He was exhausted, perhaps even more than the boy himself, and the realization brought a sudden flicker of hope.
If he could just get up, perhaps he could escape.
Using the wall for support, the boy forced himself onto his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as he raised his clenched fists. The old man noticed immediately, straightening just enough to face him before slowly stepping forward.
"STAY BACK!"
The boy swung first, his fist striking the man's shoulder without much effect. He tried again, aiming higher this time, but the old man moved his head aside and caught his forearm before the punch could connect.
The man's movements were slow and unsteady, but unlike the boy's desperate swings, they were controlled. Rather than trying to overpower him, he twisted the captured arm and stepped sideways, forcing the boy to follow or risk having his elbow bent painfully backward.
"AH!"
The boy stumbled forward, and the old man's knee rose to meet him.
The impact struck his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs as he doubled over. Before he could recover, the man grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled downward, using the boy's own momentum to send him crashing against the stone floor.
His teeth clicked together from the impact.
For several seconds, he couldn't breathe.
The old man stood over him, his chest rising and falling violently as he struggled to recover from the effort. One hand trembled against his knee while the other wiped sweat from his face, but even now, his bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the boy's clenched fists.
"Give it..."
The boy shook his head.
"Give it to me."
"NO!"
The man kicked his arm, sending pain shooting through his elbow before another blow caught his wrist. The boy pulled his hands closer to his chest and tried crawling away, dragging himself across the cold stone while the old man's boots scraped against the floor behind him.
He heard the man stumble once, followed by a harsh cough, but when he glanced backward, the old man had already caught himself against an overturned pew.
And he was coming again.
The boy tried standing, but the man kicked his leg before he could straighten it. He attempted another punch, only for the old man to catch his wrist and pull him off balance.
It didn't matter how tired the man became. Every movement he made seemed to have a purpose, while the boy was simply throwing whatever part of his body he could still move toward him, hoping something would hurt enough to make him stop.
Nothing did.
The old man seized his shirt again, pulling him upright just long enough to shove him backward against the wall.
His head struck the stone.
A dull ringing filled his ears, and the colored sunlight stretching across the floor blurred together as his knees gave out beneath him.
He slid down the wall, barely managing to keep his hands pressed against his chest.
"Please..."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
The old man stood over him, breathing heavily, his fingers still gripping the front of the boy's shirt.
"Please... stop..."
The old man froze.
His fingers remained curled around the boy's shirt, but the grip slowly loosened as his eyes moved away from the clenched fists and settled on the face of the child sitting beneath him.
For the first time since he'd attacked, he seemed to notice the blood running from the scratches along the boy's cheeks, the swelling around one of his eyes, and the way his thin shoulders trembled beneath his torn clothing. The boy stared back at him, his breathing shallow and uneven, his arms still wrapped protectively around whatever he was holding.
The old man's mouth opened slightly.
His gaze lingered on the boy's face before slowly drifting toward the hand gripping his shirt.
He released it.
His fingers remained suspended in the air for a moment, trembling uncontrollably, before he slowly drew them toward himself. He turned his palm upward, staring at the dirt caught beneath his nails and the fresh scratches running across his knuckles.
His lips pressed together.
The muscles along his jaw tightened, and his brow slowly furrowed as he examined his hand, turning it over as though he were struggling to recognize it. His breathing, which had been harsh and furious only moments earlier, became quieter, interrupted by the occasional uneven inhale.
He looked toward the boy again.
His eyes moved across the injuries he'd caused, lingering on the blood staining the child's collar before dropping toward the floor.
The old man's shoulders sagged.
His mouth opened once more, but whatever words had gathered behind his lips seemed unable to escape. Instead, he swallowed, his throat moving painfully as he took a small step backward.
The boy watched him, barely daring to breathe.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then a low, hollow growl broke the silence.
The old man's stomach.
His body stiffened.
The sound continued, a long, painful rumbling that seemed to twist through his abdomen, forcing him to bend slightly as one trembling hand instinctively pressed against his stomach.
His eyes closed.
He swallowed again.
When he opened them, his gaze fell toward the boy's hands.
His fingers twitched.
For a moment, he remained perfectly still, staring at those tightly clenched fists before slowly looking back toward the boy's face.
His lips trembled.
The boy could see the muscles working along his jaw as he ground his teeth together, his breathing gradually growing heavier. The hand resting against his stomach tightened into a fist, and his shoulders began rising and falling with increasingly sharp breaths.
He looked down at his own hands once more.
Then at the boy's.
His brow lowered.
The trembling in his fingers worsened, but instead of drawing them away, he slowly began curling them inward until his cracked nails pressed against his palms.
His nostrils flared.
The corners of his mouth pulled downward, exposing his yellowed teeth as his breathing grew louder.
"Just..."
His voice came out as little more than a strained whisper.
The boy pressed himself farther against the wall.
The old man took a step forward.
"Just give it..."
His eyes remained fixed on the boy's fists, and whatever uncertainty had slowed him moments earlier seemed to disappear beneath the increasingly frantic movements of his body.
He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his mouth filled with saliva.
"Give it to me..."
The boy shook his head.
The old man's face contorted.
"OPEN YOUR HANDS!"
His boot slammed into the boy's forearm.
"AHHH!"
The boy screamed, pulling his arms closer to his chest as another kick followed.
"OPEN THEM!"
The man kicked again, harder this time, his voice cracking as he leaned forward with an almost frantic desperation.
"JUST OPEN YOUR DAMN HANDS!"
The boy tried crawling away, dragging himself across the cold stone with his elbows while keeping his fists pressed beneath his chin, but the old man followed, kicking at his arms whenever he tried moving.
The boy couldn't understand it.
The man was barely standing.
He looked as though he might collapse at any moment.
Yet he kept coming.
The old man caught his wrist again, twisting it sharply enough to force him onto his knees. The boy tried pulling away, but the man struck his arm with the side of his fist before dragging him forward.
"AGHH!"
His arm bent at an angle it wasn't supposed to, and he stumbled desperately after the movement, trying to prevent something from snapping.
The old man released him just long enough to kick him in the side.
The boy rolled onto his back.
The man stepped over him.
"LET GO ALREADY!"
His boot came down.
The boy barely managed to pull his hands away before it struck the stone, the impact echoing through the church.
The man raised his foot again.
The boy tried rolling aside.
Too slow.
His boot caught his wrist.
"AHHH!"
A sharp pain tore through his hand, and his fingers spasmed uncontrollably.
He tried closing them again.
But they wouldn't move properly.
The old man saw it.
His eyes widened.
He raised his boot one more time.
"LET GO!"
The kick struck the boy's hands.
And finally, his fingers opened.
Something small fell onto the floor.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
There, between their bodies, lay a piece of bread.
It was small enough to fit inside the boy's fist, its crust hard and cracked, with patches of greenish mold spreading across one side. The inside had turned gray in places, and a few crumbs scattered across the stone where it had struck the ground.
It wasn't even a proper piece.
Just a miserable, rotten lump that someone had thrown away.
The boy stared at it.
His hands trembled, and although he desperately tried closing his fingers again, they refused to obey him.
...No.
The old man dropped to his knees.
Before the boy could reach for it, his hand shot forward.
He grabbed the bread.
"NO!"
The boy lunged toward him.
Or tried to.
His body barely moved.
The old man shoved him away with one arm, sending him sprawling against the floor before immediately stuffing the bread into his mouth.
The boy froze.
The old man's cheeks bulged as he forced the entire piece between his teeth, chewing slowly at first before his jaw began moving faster and faster.
His eyes closed, and a low, trembling groan escaped his throat.
"Mmmgh..."
He barely seemed to notice the mold.
Or perhaps he simply didn't care.
His jaw worked desperately, grinding through the hard crust as crumbs spilled from the corners of his mouth.
He caught them with his fingers.
Every last one.
He pressed his hand against his lips, licking the crumbs from his palm before swallowing.
His throat moved.
Then he stood there, breathing heavily as he continued chewing whatever remained inside his mouth.
For several seconds, he looked almost peaceful.
The boy watched him.
His mouth hung slightly open.
He could smell the bread.
Even from where he lay, he could smell it.
And his stomach twisted so violently that he thought he might vomit.
...That was mine.
The old man opened his eyes.
He looked down at the boy.
The child remained sprawled against the stone floor, one hand stretched weakly toward the place where the bread had fallen.
The old man's jaw tightened.
He looked away, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing down again.
The boy hadn't moved.
His fingers remained outstretched.
The old man's lips pressed together, and he shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. His gaze flickered toward the hallway, but instead of leaving, he looked down at the boy once more.
"Should've..."
He swallowed.
His fingers curled into fists.
"Should've just given it to me."
The boy didn't respond.
The old man's expression tightened further.
He stepped forward.
"Was that so hard?!"
His boot struck the boy's stomach.
"GH-!"
The boy curled inward, pulling his knees toward his chest as another kick caught his side.
"HUH?!"
The old man's voice rose.
"WAS THAT SO DAMN HARD?!"
He kicked again, his movements becoming increasingly agitated as the boy tried shielding himself with his aching arms.
"All you had to do was give it to me!"
Another kick.
"That's all!"
The boy could barely breathe.
He pressed his forehead against his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible while the old man's boots scraped against the stone around him.
Finally, the blows stopped.
The old man stood over him, his chest heaving as he stared down at the trembling child.
His mouth opened slightly.
Then he looked away.
"Should've just given it to me..."
He turned toward the hallway and began walking, his footsteps slow and uneven as he made his way toward the faint orange light.
The boy remained curled against the wall, afraid to move.
Afraid that if he made even the slightest sound, the man would come back.
Through the narrow gap between his arms, he watched the old man's figure retreat toward the doorway.
The faint orange light spilled across his shoulders, revealing how thin he really was. His clothes hung loosely from his body, and one of his legs dragged slightly as he walked.
He looked exhausted.
He looked hungry.
He looked like he might collapse before reaching the hallway.
But he had eaten.
As he stepped into the light, he raised his fingers toward his mouth and began licking them, slowly dragging his tongue across each one in search of whatever crumbs remained.
He even stopped to inspect his palm.
Then he licked it again.
And again.
Only when he was satisfied that nothing remained did he lower his hand.
A moment later, he disappeared into the hallway.
The chatter continued.
Someone laughed.
Footsteps passed.
Life went on.
The boy remained where he was, curled into a ball beneath the stained-glass windows, his body trembling with every shallow breath.
The sunlight still fell across the stone floor.
It touched his bare feet, stretched across his knees, and settled against the torn fabric of his clothes, offering the same faint warmth that had drawn him there in the first place.
But he couldn't feel it anymore.
His hands lay in front of him.
The fingers were swollen and scraped, with dirt caught beneath the nails and thin streaks of blood running across his knuckles.
He tried closing them.
Pain shot through both wrists.
He stopped.
For a long time, he simply stared at his hands.
They were empty.
His lips began trembling.
Slowly, he raised one hand toward his mouth.
He hesitated for a moment, staring at his swollen fingers before pressing them against his lips.
Then he began licking them.
His tongue moved across his palm, searching between the creases of his skin and along the spaces between his fingers, desperately trying to find whatever traces of the bread might have remained.
There was almost nothing.
Only dirt, sweat, and the faint, bitter taste of blood.
But he kept going.
He turned his hand over, dragging his tongue across his knuckles before returning to his palm, licking the places where he'd held the bread so tightly that its rough surface had left small impressions against his skin.
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
The boy flinched.
He brought his other hand toward his mouth and began licking that one too, his movements growing increasingly frantic as he searched for crumbs that weren't there.
His fingers shook so badly that he struggled to keep them against his lips.
Still, he continued.
Again.
And again.
Until there was nothing left to taste.
His breathing began to hitch.
He lowered his hands slightly, staring at them through blurred vision.
His lips trembled.
Then his face twisted.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and tears began slipping down his cheeks, tracing narrow paths through the dirt and dried blood before dripping from his chin onto his knees.
His shoulders shook.
He tried swallowing, but his throat tightened painfully, and a small, broken sound escaped his mouth.
The boy pressed his hands against his lips again.
He licked them once more.
Even though there was nothing left.
Even though it hurt.
His stomach growled again, and he curled forward, pressing his forehead against his knees as tears continued streaming down his face.
Above him, sunlight passed through the colored glass, casting patches of red and gold across his trembling body.
Beyond the ruined pews, the voices in the hallway continued.
And the boy remained there, alone in the fading warmth, his empty hands pressed against his mouth.