He ate paint chips for dinner that night. The dirt beneath his fingernails added an extra bit of taste but his stomach still rumbled around the lead.
Under the flickering lights of the old warehouse, Danny waited for his mother. He had been waiting for a week and a half. He counted each sunrise over the city as he watched the trucks drive in every morning, images of bread and meats on their sides. A feast would be easy to find with a truck like that – his mother was supposed to steal one.
On the opposite site of the city, the prison stood under a grey and gloomy cloud. Danny’s mother stared out the window towards the warehouse on the hill. Her eyes blurred with tears as she scratched her cell walls, waiting.
Written for this past week’s Flash!Friday.