The black night was silent and cold, the fog rose in tufts of white from the black road that was wet with dew....
STORY
The black night was silent and cold, the fog rose in tufts of white from the black road that was wet with dew. The silence was broken only by the pattering of small feet as a little figure ran quickly down the street, its grey coat flapping in the wind and its small gray peak cap clamped on its forehead by a small hand, shaking uncontrollably with the cold.
The figure turned around suspiciously as a sleek black car braked to a halt few feet away. The driver lowered the window and a hand beckoned to the child.
Without hesitation, the child jogged up to the car and knelt slightly by the window. He was greeted by a burst of warm air from inside. Unconsciously, he drew closer and placed his white knuckles on the window in an attempt to warm them.
“You’re alone out here?” the man in the driver’s seat asked.
“Yes, sir,” the child nodded.
“Where’re you from?”
“The orphanage in the next town, sir,”
The man gave a frustrated sigh:
“And what? You ran away or something? I guess they were hard on you, mean and wild, huh?”
“Yes sir,” the child nodded again, immune to the sarcasm in the man’s voice.
“Where’d you get these rags, by the way?” the man pointed to the grey coat, grey shorts and ragged little black stockings that were a tad too tight for the child.
“I have two or three in my closet, sir, everyone does... it’s the orphanage uniform, you see,”
“It is now, is it? Where the heck do you suppose your parents are?”
“I believe they’re dead, sir.
“They are, are they now? Pity.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, what’re you waiting for, for heaven’s sake? Hop in! The missus will be half gone with worry by now.”
“Where to, sir?” the child asked suspiciously, but the man could clearly read the longing for a hot supper and a comfortable bed in his eyes. He blinked back sudden tears and said gruffly: “To my home, boy, come, now. Let’s not wait for the grass to grow.”
The child got into the passenger’s seat hesitantly, and sat down on the very edge of the seat. He kept glancing warily at the man as he started the car.
“Ever ran away before, son?” the man asked conversationally.
“No, sir, I haven’t.”
“So, why run away now?”
“Because of the dreams, sir.”
“What dreams?” the man cocked his head and glanced curiously at the boy.
“About my parents, sir... they’re not dreams; in fact, more like visions... I see them half the time... I saw one today and that was why I decided to run away from the orphanage. I wanted to go and find them.”
“Humph-” the man grunted. Then “Here, we are at my place!” he braked and no sooner had the car stopped that he had jumped out, gathered the boy up in his arms and bounded up to the front door. He rapped his knuckles on the door, and it was opened by his wife at once:
“Oh, thank Goodness you are back. I was getting worried! And what have we here tonight?” she gave the child a kindly smile.
“A run away orphan, Darlene, he is searching for his family.”
“Is he? Well, he will have to wait. Take him up to the bedroom, dear. I will come up with some hot soup and a loaf of bread. Are you hungry, dear?” she ruffled the child’s hair and without waiting for his answer, she went to the kitchen.
After a few moments, she was joined by her husband, who sunk into an arm chair with a loud groan.
“Did he go far this time?” She asked worriedly.
“I stopped him on the main road,” he mumbled.
“What are we going to do?” she sounded defeated.
“I’ll have to call the doctor again, tomorrow.”
“It’s not that bad, dear, and I don’t want another long spell of psychiatrists,” she whispered, her little face illuminated strangely by the light of the fire on the stove.
“Not bad, darling? I tell you this is getting worse!” the man sounded half wild.
“Why?”
“He thinks we are a dream!”
