Though I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of death...

The dawn broke grey and cold, but Fil took no notice. In fact, today was the happiest day of his life. He might be going to live with Grandma Pearl. It was just a might. He didn’t even know if she had found his note, but this was the first thing he had had to hope for in…ever. Waking up in the morning and being able to lounge in bed. Wow! A bed! He’d never had one of those. And he could go to school, and maybe get a job. Most importantly though, he could give back all of the things he’d “borrowed”. So he woke with these thoughts did not notice the chill wind and darkening sky.
Cheerfully, he scurried down his tree and headed to the underpass to get the day’s newspapers He reached the crossing as two cars came up, turning left and right. Fil went on straight, and…what was this? Where were his newspapers? He looked all around, but nothing was in front of him wherever he looked. Fil sat down and pondered for a long while. Finally though, he thought of two things. It could just be a mistake. They’ll probly just bring them tomorrow. And what does it matter anyway. I might not even be getting papers much longer. Wait! What if Grandma Pearl was the one leaving the newspapers, and now that she read my note, she knows there’s no point in me doing this anymore! He thought about this idea, and decided that it was stupid, but there were other reasons, so he got up and plodded back to town. It was nice not to carry those heavy words. Those grey papers were his past. He decided he would even throw away the left over papers he kept in his tree. Fil reached the apartment building and stopped, deciding what he would do today. He wanted to go see Grandma Pearl, but he didn’t want to rush her. Fil decided he would just meander up and down the street. He had never done that before. Just stood out in the open and didn’t care about anyone seeing him. He had never done a lot of things before. But today, today he was going to live a new life. Where was everyone? He wanted to give someone a big grin and a hearty hello. Why would people not be out on a gorgeous day like this? Oh, wait. There’s Mrs. Flogsbottom-head-bent, hurrying to the store. Peculiar woman.
“Hey there Mrs. Flogsbottom! Lovely weather!” he said as he gave her a big smile and a wave. She looked up with an expression of total incredulity, then looked at the sky.
Well, I guess it’s true that I never talk to anyone. Quite a shame, as everyone in this town seems so pleasant. I’ve wasted part of my youth, but I’m young. I have so much more to look foreword to. It’s ok. Fil wandered up and down the street for hours, taking it all in. Oscar’s meat place. Lovely man. Taxidermy shop. A little strange, but she did seem to love animals. The local grocery store. Fil looked at the place with a feeling of relief. In the future, he could go in there and get whatever he wanted, knowing he had a pocket full of money. Last of all, he went to the bus stop. The bus had come and long gone. He stood standing there for a long while. This single place could take him anywhere. There were so many places he could have gone. Could have, maybe should have, but there was only one place he wanted to go now.
The day began to wane, so he headed back to his tree for the night, taking one last look at today, because tomorrow, everything would change. Fil was so excited about the idea of something different, that he barely even felt the raindrops starting to fall onto his face. As he reached the platform of his tree, the wind picked up swiftly. His platform was more than three-fourths up the tree, and it started rocking back and forth. Usually during a storm, Fil stayed on the ground and found a place to sleep, but he simply had not noticed the weather on account of his thoughts. However, he had weathered storms before after all, so he hunkered down in his bed pile, pulling his covers and all of his belongings tightly around him.
As the night wore on, the storm increased its fury. The tree swayed violently, as rain, sleet, and chunks of ice beat ferociously against Fil’s thatched, make-shift roof. Terrified, Fil hugged the floorboards., occasionally having one peal up from beneath him and whirl away with the howling wind. Fil hung on for dear life as the storm raged on around him. All thoughts of anything except survival were driven from his mind. Soaked, battered, starving, and exhausted, Fil did not know how much more he could take. Soon the storm would win, and Fil did not know what would happen. The whirlwind night dragged on for years with periodic lightening strikes to mark the seconds, it seemed, but finally the rain started to abate, and the wind died down. Dawn approached. Fil’s strong, solid oak, had proved its worth. Its roots ran deep, and it had outlasted the storm, and was sure to outlast many, many more. This was his home, his life. He and his tree would continue together. With a relieved sigh, Fil started climbing down the tree for his feet to meet the hard, solid earth. The last of the rain was drizzling away, taking Fil’s fears with it. He was about thirty feet down from his platform, though, when the storm decided to give one last parting shot. The sky boomed and a mighty lightening bolt struck the very limb on which Fil stood. The branch gave a resounding crack, and snapped from the tree, gathering speed toward the ground, and taking Fil with it. Fil gave a mighty wail as he flung out his arms, grasping desperately at the leaves and twigs, trying to break his fall. An eternity passed by as he fell, and finally, he crashed to the ground, as the branch on which he had a second before been standing, crashed down on top of him.

Fil blacked out.

He woke on his back, with a heavy weight pressing on his chest, yet strangely, he felt nothing. His body felt light and warm, as his fingers soaked up the wetness on the ground around him. Rain from the storm, he thought. Fil looked up and saw the remains of his tree house far above. Something grey was floating down through the sky.

I did good. It’s an angel come.

Pearl saw the newspaper page resting softly across his tiny chest. It was the job ads. She picked it up and read the first description, circled with red sharpie.

Help wanted: flying instructor.

The warming sun broke over Washington Heights. It was going to be a gorgeous day.

Finding a Pen

Fil had finished his newspaper gig for the day. A miserable day. Sleet stung his face, making it numb with cold. No one had bothered to buy a paper, or really stick their heads out of any crevace. He wondered why he bothered trying to sell news any way. How much money could he possibly make.
The night seemed a little better, though still deadly cold. He was walking back to the park as he saw the woman with the abusive father heading toward the appartments. Candy, Mandy-something like that. As she went in however, that no-good grandson jogged out and hopped into a black van lurking in the shadows. Fil new that nothing good could come of this...well...he could go borrow some food. Fil threw the rest of the papers into a trashcan and ran to catch the door before it closed. "Thanks Alex," he thought.
Fil new that Grandma Pearl would be heading to bed soon. That nuisance of a child never gave her a moments peace. She needed someone reliable and kind. He reached the landing of the penthouse and waited in the shadows for a while, making sure Pearl would be fast asleep. Then, silently, with the expertise only a homeless person after years of practice can master, he picked the lock, removed the chain with his tiny ten-year-old hands, and slid into the penthouse without a peep. Before setting off for the kitchen, he checked to make sure Pearl was sleeping soundly. Sleeping she was, but there was persperation on her brow, and she tossed and turned, muttering ominous words that sounded like 'kidnapped' and 'dead'.
Fil was moved with pity and compassion. Here was someone like him. She was a kind soul that everyone took for granted. She lived at the beck and call of others, only wanting someone to have a conversation with. They were ambiguous. She, no first name, He, no last. After a long while, he headed to the kitchen to scrounge up what he could, without drawing attention. But for some reason, this borrowing session was different. He felt terrible about taking advantage of her kindness like this. What could he do? He was starving, but though Pearl had plenty of food, she was starving too.
At last Fil reached a decision. He would leave a note. he found a sheet of paper by the computer, and searched for a pen. He had just given up hope, when he saw the felt-tipped marker stuck to the fridge for making grocery lists. Permanent. No going back. He began to write. This took him a long while, having to pause for long periods of time to remember how things were spelled. He wanted her to be able to read it.

ms Perl of the penthowse
i hope this finds yoo feeling happee. i want to apolgize for what iv done. for a long time iv been borowing sum food from yoo. i want to give it all bak one day but i dont no how as i dont have no monee or no place to live. i no i am a thefe but plese dont be skayrd becos i am very small and i dont want to hert yoo. i just hope that you will forgiv me and we mite can be frinds. i hope when i see yoo next yoo will have a smiul on yoor fase becos evree one needs a smiul sumtiyms.

Fil looked at it for a long time and decided it was the best he could do. He hoped he spelled everything right. Either way, there was nothing for it. He didn't sign his name in case Alexander found it, but Fil didn't think he would, because Fil folded it and put it behind the fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator. Fil had spent a long time in the penthouse and decided he should leave before Alexander came back. So, he quickly grabbed an apple, some canned peas, and a forzen loaf of bread. With his provisions, he stole out of Washington Heights and back into the night. Though chill and dark, Fil thought things might be beginning to look up.

Futures

Fil had been lucky, and rather scared. He had gotten 20 bucks, and some food, and for the most part, he didn't have to 'borrow' any of it. However, he also got a lot of attention. Too much. He didn't like what happened to people who got too much attention. like the wacko who gave him the 20. Fil had spotted at once that he was the self-proclaimed vigilante. His arm was injured. most likely by him breaking into Oscar's. Crazy sonofa bitch. Nice though. He didn't want to trade in his 20 for the man's sanity. Though he almost had anyway. The local vagrant had tried to steal his money from him. Fil wondered if that man was his future. Would Fil turn into a man who stole everything, sometimes for sport? Would the town despise him as much as the vagrant? Would he live to see that day anyway? How was Fil any better really? He was rather homeless, excluding his tree. He stole everything. Fil pondered long and hard about this, for he had no other distraction from the chill wind that had begun in the pitch-black darkness of last night. For there was no moon.

Finally, Fil decided that, if only a little, he was different from the vagrant. He did not throw rocks at cars. He did not pee on trees without regard for passersby. If only a slight step up, he decided that though the two homeless people were in the same situation, Fil had a conscience. And he was 10.

selling words

FIl woke early. Water dripped down from a crack in his foliage roof. He got up and patched it with some dirt and leaves.The rain would cake the leaves together. People wanted their news. He rifled through his pile of rags and pulled out a patched up raincoat. It was too big. He had 'borrowed' it from the local store, and he was small for his age. His morning routine. He clambered down the branches and jogged to the edge of the town by the highway. Everyday, he found the newspapers. He didn't know who left them there, but he took advatage of it to make some nickels. He had to walk back under the weight of all the words he carried. He put the news down, stuck the sign back on the bus stop, placed the cup by his feet, and waited. It would be a long day. The constant drizzle was no bother to him. He just sat back and watched another sorry day unfold.

The first sign of life was the swindler, picking up his S.S. money. He had a stain on his shirt. Fil swore the man did it on purpose. Alan was high yet though. Maybe this day would turn around for him. No. there he goes to get his supply of syringes. When he was safely back in the building, the crazy woman came out of the store. She looked both ways and hurried back to her appartment building, oblivious to the rain. Fil felt sorry for her. The showgirl came out. She was wearing a smile, as always. Fil could not see why. When the world helped him out, he would smile, maybe say something, but not 'til then.

Another slow day. No one really bought newspapers, especially soggy on-ow, he thought. Someone had just run into him. People never noticed him. He liked it that way. This woman didn't notice either. Her face was blocked by boxes of flowers, stacked in her arms.

He waited. Now dusk, it was still raining. A woman on her phone crossed the street to Oscar's. She looked tense. The man that had been following her since she came to this town went after her. She came out quickly. She had blood on her hand. FIl was worried. The man didn't come out. Resigned, Fil started packing up for the night. Things were getting strange. Stranger than normal. He wanted to get out, but this was the only place he could remain anonymous, but he felt that was about to change. The town was stirring from its stupor. He didn't like it one bit.

Blog #2-Getting Hungry

The park didn't have many trees, but this one was as tall as Washington Heights. Fil had taken some old floorboards from the abandoned house and hoisted them three-fourths of the way up the tree with some rope that he had borrowed from the conveinience store. Borrowed, because one day he planned to give everything back. In fact, the first thing he saw everyday when he scaled the tree to his platform was a list- a list of everything he had ever taken. Along with the list, he had heeps of blankets piled in a corner, resembling a dog's bed. Various other oddments were strewn about the planks, but nothing of any signifigance besides a crumpled newspaper article, that lay within the recesses of his blankets.

Fil sat up from the wooden platform of his tree. He didn't think it was very comfortable-the planks, but this was the safest place in the whole town-cheapest too. The whole town seemed frozen in time. He recalled the police station as being quite terrible. If he thought about it, the whole rest of the city had some sort of problem as well. Something. Addictions, crime, paranoia. Something was wrong with Fil too. He was poor. He was homeless. There was nothing he could do about it. He was ten. This didn't bother him much except that he got hungry. He was hungry now. With a ressigned sigh, he pulled on his wool hat; partway over his glasses, slid his cigarettes into his back pocket, and shimmied down the tree.

He had a regular place that he borrowed from. The Old Woman Pearl's place. She always kept the place stocked with food for her no-good grandson, and she was always gone on some errand. He quickly reached her door. After making sure the lights were off, he tried the handle. His instints told him something was fishy. Pearl always locked her door. He peered through the darkness to see the shady figure of a man eating a cookie. He slowly backed out of the door, and holding his breath, began heading for the stairs, but he saw Old Woman Pearl coming out of the stairway, so he quickly backed into an obscure cranny of the hallway. Pearl shrieked. Fil ran, bumping into the grandson on his flight down.

Finally back in his tree, Fil let out a deep breath. Something was going on here, and he didn't like it.

Fil-Tree

He slapped the pack of Camel's against his little hand. Light. Nonfilter. Never opened, never smoked. Leaning against the bus stop, he holds the Evening Post. The piece of notebook paper attached to the bus stop sign claims that each edition is available for just a nickle. The change cup lays empty by his feet. This doesn't bother him though. He sure wouldn't waste a nickel on words on paper, folded together. What'd he know though, a ten year old kid, who barely talked to anyone, eyes always hidden by those purple-tinted glasses. The clock hit the eight. Fil waited for the last stroke, in case any stragglers wanted to rush out and buy some bedtime reading. He saw noone, so he packed up his wares and headed back to the park.