Safe? by Ella Stewart

He opened his eyes to see the morning light breaking through the trees.

Pulling his damp coat around him, he got up stiffly, slipping his feet into the oversized shoes.

Folding up his cardboard, the decision was made, he could leave it, he wouldn’t need it any more.

Walking along the cobbled damp street, shuffling so that he wouldn’t lose the shoes, he moved in time to the heartbeat echoing in his ears, in the early morning silence.

The cold air made his eyes smart and run, his tongue flicking to catch the salty moisture, as his stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Warm breath swirled in the air and he began to let it out in gentle slow puffs, holding his fingers to his mouth, imagining the cigarette glow, just as he had seen the man do.

Dragging his sleeve across his running nose, he sniffed, feeling the catarrh slip down his throat. He quickened his pace.

Entering the church was done quietly, eyes darting into the darkness. It was important to watch your back.

Shivering he sat in a pew, placing his feet on the cushion.

He looked down at his dirty scabby knees, spitting on them, rubbing his fingers across them, smearing the dirt into swirling shapes.

Putting a fingernail under one of the scabs, he watched as the bright red trail trickled down his leg.

He began to hum as the silence deafened him. The beat behind his ribs hastened.

Churches were safe places, he knew that, he didn’t know where from, but guessed an adult had told him, they were always telling him stuff.

The door opened and he lay down quickly, holding his breath, squeezing his eyes shut, listening for the heavy footsteps getting closer.

He opened his eyes to see a large calloused hand held out to him. His small, thin hand disappeared into it.