The floorboards just within the doorway creaked as the boy stepped on them, and the man became suddenly aware of was happening.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded as he rushed towards the boy.
"I was just--"
The man grabbed the boy by his arm and cut in. "You're being stupid is just what you're doing!" He shook the boy roughly, then suddenly let go. There are better uses for energy, he told himself.
"I thought shelter was shelter!" cried the boy as he vainly tried to defend his reasoning. The only thing he wanted more than to be the first one in, was to win a fight.
"Shelter is shelter when the ceiling doesn't come crashing down on you!" The man knew what was coming, what the boy was trying to do, but he was in no mood or position to let the boy win. He was still too young, too soft, too naive. The boy knew nothing of the secret workings of the behind the scenes. Nothing of the power of a decision.
"Well since when did you decide that? I never got a say!"
"Of course you don't get a say, this isn't a democracy!"
They both stood, each glaring at the other, neither willing to back down. A minute passed, before the strange sound of a cat's meow ended the angry silence.
The glares turned into a communicative stare, sharing only one single word. Food.
The man's hand slipped onto the handle of the large machete he kept in a sheath tied to his belt.
The boy nodded, he knew his place in the trap. Bait. He pulled from his pocket a small piece of bread and looked about the room for any sign of a cat. His eyes landed on a wisp of a tail that disappeared into the main pile of debris. "Here kitty, kitty," he cooed as he crept toward the cat's hiding place.
Another meow sounded, and the cat appeared, precariously balanced on the top of the pile of rubble.
The boy crept ever closer toward the cat. "Want some food kitty?" He held out his open palm containing the bread towards the cat.
The cat jumped from the pile of the rubble onto the floor. It paid no attention to
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded as he rushed towards the boy.
"I was just--"
The man grabbed the boy by his arm and cut in. "You're being stupid is just what you're doing!" He shook the boy roughly, then suddenly let go. There are better uses for energy, he told himself.
"I thought shelter was shelter!" cried the boy as he vainly tried to defend his reasoning. The only thing he wanted more than to be the first one in, was to win a fight.
"Shelter is shelter when the ceiling doesn't come crashing down on you!" The man knew what was coming, what the boy was trying to do, but he was in no mood or position to let the boy win. He was still too young, too soft, too naive. The boy knew nothing of the secret workings of the behind the scenes. Nothing of the power of a decision.
"Well since when did you decide that? I never got a say!"
"Of course you don't get a say, this isn't a democracy!"
They both stood, each glaring at the other, neither willing to back down. A minute passed, before the strange sound of a cat's meow ended the angry silence.
The glares turned into a communicative stare, sharing only one single word. Food.
The man's hand slipped onto the handle of the large machete he kept in a sheath tied to his belt.
The boy nodded, he knew his place in the trap. Bait. He pulled from his pocket a small piece of bread and looked about the room for any sign of a cat. His eyes landed on a wisp of a tail that disappeared into the main pile of debris. "Here kitty, kitty," he cooed as he crept toward the cat's hiding place.
Another meow sounded, and the cat appeared, precariously balanced on the top of the pile of rubble.
The boy crept ever closer toward the cat. "Want some food kitty?" He held out his open palm containing the bread towards the cat.
The cat jumped from the pile of the rubble onto the floor. It paid no attention to
