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.