Toby slumps against a wall in the alley.1
Streetlight casts a pale jaundice halo.
Embraces him in false warmth.
He likes the light.
Feels safer there.
Too many monsters in the dark.
So many memories.
Always the monsters came.
This cold night sky sparkles with fat, happy stars.
A tipsy couple approaches arm in arm, laughing.
Pause at the alley for a brief kiss.
Mouths flavored with spiced chai and rum.
The kiss sparks an electric charge in the man’s groin.
Warmth floods hers.
“Hello, nurse,” he says.
“Wanna go to my place and play Doctor?” she replies.
“Good thing I brought my stethoscope.”
They laugh.
“Fucking jerks,” Toby spits in their direction.
They jump, startled.
Try to play it off.
They look down the alley.
Spot a filthy boy squatting in a puddle.
He’s wrapped in layers of tattered coats.
So young, they think.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?” yells Toby.
The man pulls his date closer.
His groin shrivels.
Hers cools.
They scurry away.
No longer in the mood to play Doctor.
Toby bangs his head twice against the wall. “Fuck! Fuck!” he says through gritted teeth.
He’s agitated.
In pain.
Feels like acid is bubbling in his veins.
Worming through the squiggly tissue of his broken brain.
Maybe more medicine will help.
He needs to find Jezebel.
Maybe she can get him right.
Nah, too many people at the Hizzy.
Toby hates people.
Wishes they would all drop dead.
He could be the last man standing.
Find peace at last.
Blazing pain scorches the raw lining of his stomach.
Maybe those guys down in the Valley can help.
Like they did a couple nights ago.
They weren’t too happy to see him at first.
Even pulled their guns on him.
Fuckers.
Big men with big guns.
And little dicks.
Toby laughs.
Searing pain shreds his throat.
He coughs.
Tastes copper.
Wipes his mouth.
Hand is red.
But those guys came around soon enough.
Took him inside.
Gave him some medicine.
It was good.
Until it wasn’t.
He’s suffered through withdrawals before, but not like this.
Forty-eight hours of pure hell.
Pulls to his feet.
Digs in his pockets.
No change.
Can’t hop a bus to the Valley without a fare.
Fuck.
Maybe he can walk off the pain.
Push through like a champ.
Toby’s a survivor.
He’s proven that time and again.
Parents didn’t want him?
Fuck ‘em.
Toby didn’t need ‘em.
Foster parents couldn’t handle him?
Fuck ‘em.
Didn’t need them either.
More foster parents, group homes, detention centers.
Toby’s got two middle fingers for every one of those sorry bastards.
“I’m a survivor,” he gurgles through wet phlegm. “A motherfuckin’ champion.”
He hocks a red loogie.
Wraps his coats tight.
Sets off on a walkabout.
Another round.
Another circuit.
Another night.
Killing time on the streets until the sun rises in the east.
AI image by Adobe Firefly / Prompt & Design > N. Allen.
Toby's a tough one, for sure. It's impressive to be so young and already so tough. Maybe he can get out of that dump and onto a better life. Great post, Nikolas.