The boy with wild eyes

He was small. He really was. Skinny and looked like a dirty rat. Malnourished with torn fabric that in this state was barley clothing clinging to his bones. Yes, I mean bones. His skin looked like it was stretched far enough to be see-through. His hair was long and matted. Nails sharp but looked like they had been filed down. His teeth and eyes looked like they belonged to an animal. His boney ankles disappeared underneath the thick yellow and gray socks he was wearing. His movements were fast and unsettling but silent. Like he had grown up used to sneaking around the allies while his body involentarly twitched. Which is what he was doing now. It was late. Well after dark on a cold December night and while most families enjoyed the snow and a nice Christmas dinner, he did not. Snow meant his footsteps were easily heard and prints easily seen. The cold meant teeth chattering which was more unneeded noise. But tonight he didn't care. He sprinted like a track runner. Strategically avoiding streetlights and main roads while staying fast, quiet, and confident. Eventually after running circles around the city, he was able to go home. He opened the front door of the abandoned seeming house and heard a scream. Maybe he didn't want to be "home" so early. He grimaced trying to block out what was happening upstairs while unpacking what he'd stole. Half a loaf of molding bread. He'd never understand why'd stores call the cops for him taking things like this. He ate all of it. Knowing it was greedy and not caring. Then, he left and he hoped this time he wasn't coming back.