Status: finito.
A Thief's Kiss
"A kiss with a fist is better than none"
Luca swallowed words.
Bread was scarce, water filthy, and abuse unbearable. All Luca had left were the clothes on his back, a left boot, an armband, an empty stomach, a hat and words. Everything didn’t fit right. Nothing was right anymore. Even the rats were hungry like him, all skin and bones; eating them would make him a cannibal. All he had left was on him and inside him. He was a small caravan journeying the streets with creaking wheels and chipping paint. He was two meals away from becoming a ghost but he was too tired to care. Too tired to try.
Until Janek came along.
He had the one thing his empty organs craved the most. Food. It was probably stale and moldy but Luca didn’t care because he was two meals away from becoming a ghost. He saw food, he saw hope. He saw survival - all cradled in the similarly filthy hands of a smaller boy. Luca never stole from another person. Luca took from the market, the baskets, the cupboard but never from a hand. He buried small morsels and empty cans and loose buttons inside his creaking caravan, but never things from another’s hand. No. But there was always a first. Janek was his first.
He grabbed the loaf.
Janek looked up. Luca looked down.
Survival of the fittest. Their eyes spelled everything and Luca swallowed words. He tugged and Janek held on. No, you don’t understand, Luca wanted to say. You don’t understand. I’m hungry, very hungry and I’m two meals away from becoming a ghost, don’t you get it? He swallowed and inhaled.
Yes. Yes, Janek did. Everyone inside the ghetto did.
The tug of war commenced and two boys fought over what could be their last meal. Their last everything. Luca panicked as survival slipped through his numb fingers and Janek tumbled backwards. His big brown eyes were droopy and sad and rabid like a panicked dog. Luca’s dog died of rabies. Janek tried to run, Luca lunged.
Food, food, fight, food, take it from the dog. Take it. Take it. Take it.
Luca gave Janek a kiss he’d never forget.
Bread was scarce, water filthy, and abuse unbearable. All Luca had left were the clothes on his back, a left boot, an armband, an empty stomach, a hat and words. Everything didn’t fit right. Nothing was right anymore. Even the rats were hungry like him, all skin and bones; eating them would make him a cannibal. All he had left was on him and inside him. He was a small caravan journeying the streets with creaking wheels and chipping paint. He was two meals away from becoming a ghost but he was too tired to care. Too tired to try.
Until Janek came along.
He had the one thing his empty organs craved the most. Food. It was probably stale and moldy but Luca didn’t care because he was two meals away from becoming a ghost. He saw food, he saw hope. He saw survival - all cradled in the similarly filthy hands of a smaller boy. Luca never stole from another person. Luca took from the market, the baskets, the cupboard but never from a hand. He buried small morsels and empty cans and loose buttons inside his creaking caravan, but never things from another’s hand. No. But there was always a first. Janek was his first.
He grabbed the loaf.
Janek looked up. Luca looked down.
Survival of the fittest. Their eyes spelled everything and Luca swallowed words. He tugged and Janek held on. No, you don’t understand, Luca wanted to say. You don’t understand. I’m hungry, very hungry and I’m two meals away from becoming a ghost, don’t you get it? He swallowed and inhaled.
Yes. Yes, Janek did. Everyone inside the ghetto did.
The tug of war commenced and two boys fought over what could be their last meal. Their last everything. Luca panicked as survival slipped through his numb fingers and Janek tumbled backwards. His big brown eyes were droopy and sad and rabid like a panicked dog. Luca’s dog died of rabies. Janek tried to run, Luca lunged.
Food, food, fight, food, take it from the dog. Take it. Take it. Take it.
Luca gave Janek a kiss he’d never forget.
♠ ♠ ♠
Chapter named after Kiss With A Fist by Florence + The Machine.