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A single tear joined the growing pools of rain on the concrete ground, followed by another and another after that.
The tears continued to fall as the sobbing of a young boy intensified, the emotional toll of his first new year without his parents being too much for his young mind to bear. Having run from his uncle’s home, the small preteen gripped tightly onto the plush bear he had been given to him just a week prior, a gift his father had planned to give him, to ensure it wasn't dropped onto the damp ground while he moved as swiftly as possible through the bleak streets of the unfamiliar town he’d been forced to move to after his parents untimely death. None of it had quite felt real until today, just like an overly long sleepover that he couldn’t call home for an excuse to get out of or one of those school trips he went on once or twice where they stayed over for the night, but the dawn of a new year lead to him staying up later than his parents ever allowed and the darkness of the second hour of a fresh January led to some unfortunate thinking. Now he had no choice but to acknowledge it.
His mum was gone for good. He would never see his dad again. He was alone.
Little feet carried little legs faster than he thought possible as the grey-fronted buildings blurred by, the pavement ahead of him lit only by the glaring yellow street lamps placed intermittently down the pavement and the pale light of the moon hanging directly above, each reflecting off of the large puddles forming in the uneven ground. That is, until a third source of light joined the fray, much brighter and closer than those above him. This light was so close, in fact, that it seemed to be coming from himself. Or more accurately, the rain-soaked plush gripped tightly against his chest. In the shock of the emergence of white light from his most valued possession, the boy lost his footing on the uneven pavement flags beneath him and tumbled forward, his head suddenly on level with the feet that had been moving so quickly just a moment prior. Flinching in preparation and hugging the brightly glowing bear somehow even closer to himself, the young boy readied himself for impact
An impact that didn’t come…
He remained tumbling forward, eyes clamped shut as he fell for so much longer than he should have. Likening the experience to one of those falling dreams he’d had so many times when he was even younger, the child worked up the courage to pry his eyes open. Yet just before he did, he felt something. Not the cold, hard, wet pavement he had been expecting, but a pair of strong arms beneath him and a few stray hairs brushing against his strangely dry face. Hairs that were not his own. Tearing open his eyelids with the power of an instilled fear of ‘Stranger Danger’ and scrambling out of the mysterious persons grasp, he locked eyes with the individual who had apparently caught him from his extended fall. The bright light of the afternoon sun illuminated the features of an incredibly tall man crouched close to the ground, his hairy, muscled arms still in the position they had been holding him in and the soft look on his somewhat aged, bearded face made the boy feel just that little bit more comfortable in this strange situation. Hurriedly glancing around in lingering fear, the boy took stock of his surroundings. A clearing in a forest, the varying shades of green around him interspersed with the occasional burst of differing colours by means of vibrant flowers growing in batches between blades of grass and fruits growing from the branches of the encircling trees. Less naturally, a spattering of differently dressed people stood separate from one another, each looking more confused and weary than the last.
Before the boy could ask any of the dozens of questions running through his brain, a deep voice interrupted his thoughts. The large man who had caught him spoke in a soft tone in an attempt to calm the child in front of him, asking one simple question: “Wha’s yer name, boy?” Shocked out of his confusion by the abrupt question, the young boy responded in a much quieter tone:
“... It’s Marlo, Mister…?”