All I Wanted Was A Loaf Of Bread

I would kill for a loaf of bread.

Botyoc rubbed his belly sadly. Once again, the morning meal at the Sigben Orphanage left much to be desired. Though the boy had lived for just shy of a decade, he could almost swear that his sister, after becoming the matriarch of the gang, deliberately gave him smaller portions out of some misguided reverse favoritism.

"She's out to get me," he muttered, and his stomach echoed the sentiment.

Would you kill for a SLICE of bread? the voice in his head asked.

Of course not! Botyoc was outraged by such outlandish accusations. He was an orphan, after all, not a savage. Theft wasn't out of the question, but to take another life? For just one slice? It would have to be a rather large slice.

My earlier thought was just a figure of speech, he countered. Not that it really mattered in the Salubrious Empire, since almost all crimes committed by the Lowborn were punishable by death, whether it be theft or murder.

The alley behind the Highlord's manor appeared vacant on this chilly morning. Several large crates of freshly discarded garbage were stacked neatly against the wall, each container big enough for at least two children to sit in comfortably.

Time to scavenge! Botyoc thought with excitement, and slipped on his gloves. There was usually nothing especially valuable to be found. But if one of the Elites accidentally dropped an earring into some half-finished dish it might get tossed out with the other trash.

Granted, it was an extremely unlikely scenario, but Botyoc contemplated the possibility seriously. The boy reveled in the fantasy as he cheerfully sifted through some workshop debris. He made sure to make minimal mess as he sorted through the junk. Copper, tin … and some iron! Botyoc whistled as the metal bits slowly filled up his pocket.

Part of him wanted to sort through the waste from the kitchen first, to search for leftovers, but the scrap metals were more valuable. Besides, if he could make a side trip to hide the metal before the other gangs arrived, Botyoc would have more to take back to the Sigben Gang.

Staggering footsteps came up from behind him, and he cursed softly. "You from the Bacucangs?" he asked, without turning around.

Botyoc pocketed another tiny chunk of iron, albeit with less enthusiasm, as he would now have to share the loot. After no reply came from behind, Botyoc turned, annoyed, to meet the confused stare of a girl.

"What gang are you from?" he asked impatiently. There was something odd about her looks and demeanor. Though she appeared malnourished, her physique lacked the distinct features of a hardened street urchin. The girl's dress was dirty and partly torn; from the stains on her face, it was clear she had been crying for a long time.

She appeared twelve, at most, barely older than he was, Botyoc noted.

"I'm not … no gang," she stuttered, shaken with fear.

Botyoc's first reaction was that of delight. If this girl was one of the Homeless, then the pact between gangs wouldn't apply. He would be free to stash away the metal bits jingling in his pocket. Then, another feeling surfaced, much to his annoyance. Empathy was not something an orphan could afford, not for someone outside his or her gang.

Botyoc looked down both ends of the alley, and saw no other newcomers. It was unlikely the girl could eat all that much, Botyoc decided, and pointed to the other container to his left. "That one is from the kitchen; there are usually some leftovers," he said, and with that, returned to the task at hand.

Soon enough, he reached the bottom of the workshop container, and patted his pocket proudly. Botyoc was smart enough to leave most of the less valuable metals in the crate, for when the Bacucang gang eventually showed up.

He then turned around to check in on the girl.

"Hey!" Botyoc cried out, and slapped a piece of what looked like old fish out of the girl's ungloved hand. Blood trickled down her arms from several fresh cuts, which had undoubtedly occurred while she was searching bare-handed.

She looked at him, not understanding.

Her expression was so pitiful that Botyoc felt a stab of guilt. Although such a response made little sense, as he had done it for her own good.

"You can't eat that fish without putting it in a stew first; it looks several days old. It will make you sick," Botyoc explained, with a sigh. He sifted through the small pile of leftovers the girl had gathered, and picked out a stale piece of pastry. "Here," he said, while handing it to her, fighting the urge to pop the morsel into his own mouth.

She accepted the barely edible piece gratefully, her eyes lingering as if the act of kindness was unfamiliar to her.

"Eat it slowly!" he warned, as she was about to scarf down the whole bit. Whoever this girl was, someone was definitely looking after her … or had been. Every orphan knew to pace the consumption of food so that the memories of eating could help provide motivation to scavenge.

This was not the time to worry about the girl, however, as there were more pressing matters at hand. Carefully, Botyoc made sure all of his prizes were safely tucked away in his pouch. He knew the perfect location for stashing the loot.

"Stay quiet," Botyoc warned, and headed down the alley. He just needed to go two blocks away, to the hiding spot he had used many times before.

Nothing happened as Botyoc turned the first corner, and he patted the bulging pocket proudly.

The scraps he had found so far were enough to feed the orphanage for at least two days, provided that his sister, Anjat, could manage to haggle a good price for them. Though he really did resent her position of power, there was no doubt that she was extremely capable, and would probably give the merchants quite a challenge.

A small part of the boy was overjoyed that the prizes he would soon take home might make Anjat proud, while the rest of him resented that he craved her affirmation.

All of a sudden, something heavy struck Botyoc from behind, causing him to cry out in pain. With his balance disrupted, the boy fell forward, landing on his face. The pocket burst open, and chunks of metal scattered all around him, some poking painfully against Botyoc's stomach.

"Trying to sneak away?" an unfamiliar young voice mused.

"So typical, the Sigben Gang, a bunch of greedy idiots," a second person joined in.

The Bacucangs, Botyoc thought, amidst the ringing in his head. Luckily, no additional blows came along with the gloating. Though he was ready to push himself off the ground, Botyoc continued to lie prone, waiting for the right moment to react.

"Did you honestly think we would miss out on the scavenge? We were waiting for you to make the wrong move, stupid. Letting a girl without a gang take our precious food?" the first boy said in disgust, while circling around Botyoc.

"A Homeless eating our food," the second boy agreed, and Botyoc felt spit hitting his back.

Botyoc pretended to groan, and shifted his head slightly, to catch a glimpse of where the boys were standing.

As both of his opponents lingered in front of him, Botyoc realized that now was his chance. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed at the vulnerable legs. Within seconds, all three orphans were down on the ground, and a brief tussle ensued. Taking advantage of the surprise, Botyoc launched himself on top of the first Bacucang. With several swift punches, Botyoc knocked the boy out. A fist struck the side of Botyoc's head, and he turned to face the second threat.

The scuffle intensified as both traded punches. In the heat of the moment, Botyoc completely lost himself, but when the adrenaline finally faded, he fell backward on the ground, exhausted.

Soft sounds of breathing told Botyoc that both the Bacucangs were still alive, fortunately. He wanted to stand up, but knew that his body needed a few minutes to recover. So Botyoc allowed himself precious moments of respite.

As his heartbeat slowed, Botyoc breathed a sigh of relief that no one had died. Regardless of his own feelings toward rival gangs, the orphans did not aim to kill during disputes. Bruises heal, but death is final. The last time a clash had resulted in fatalities, the following three-month feud claimed four more lives.

If it comes to that, I sure hope Bacucangs get to me first, because as terrible as they are, Anjat's much worse.

Footsteps approached, but Botyoc was too tired to care. Three men in elegant black combat fatigues walked past, their boots clomping against the dirt road. Small Ivy Sigils pinned to their chests marked them as Elites, and they paid no attention to the children groaning on the ground.

What are they doing? Botyoc wondered, and avoided making eye contact. One of the best ways to get killed was to get in the way of Highborns and Elites.

Luckily, the men walked past without pause, toward the Highlord's manor. As the trio turned around the corner, Botyoc picked himself back up, and trailed behind slowly.

"There's the one who ran away," Botyoc heard a deep voice say, as he approached the alley with garbage containers. Quickly, the boy ducked behind the corner, and almost cried out in pain. Bruises lined his body from the fight, but only now did he feel the full extent of the injuries as he squatted down to conceal his presence.

The girl! Botyoc remembered, and risked poking his head out to catch a glimpse of her. The three Elites had cornered the unlucky child, one of them pinning her against the crate with a powerful grip around the throat. Fortunately for Botyoc, he was obscured from the view of the men from their side, and he managed to remain undiscovered.

"All this effort, for her? She seems so … plain," one Elite said with disgust.

"You should see her with makeup on. Besides, she's a spirited one," said the oldest one, his fine gray hair shaking as he choked the girl harder. As her body struggled for air, she clawed at the old man's arm, but her nails failed to dig through the thick fabric.

"Doesn't look it," the third man said with a snicker, prompting the others to chuckle in agreement.

Suddenly, Botyoc realized the girl must have escaped from his harem. But, she's not my responsibility. I don't have the power to save her, he tried desperately to conBotyoc himself.

As the girl twisted and moaned pitifully, she glanced over. For a brief instant, she looked directly at him. Botyoc froze in horror as he thought himself compromised. Then, just as quickly, the dying girl turned away.

As the horrific scene played out before his eyes, Botyoc found tears trailing down both cheeks, and a chill filled his body. It wasn't the first time the boy had witnessed Elites abusing their power over the Lowborn, but Botyoc couldn't even remember the last time he had shed tears for anyone outside of his gang.

Even now, she's trying to protect me, a stranger, he admitted as shame kept him from looking away.

"Have you learned your lesson?" the gray-haired man asked, finally relaxing his grip. Like a corpse, the girl collapsed onto the ground. Yet, after a few seconds, she slowly pushed herself up.

"Have you?" the Elite repeated, his voice demanding obedience.

Just say it! Botyoc's mind cried out. Please, just say it!

The girl looked up, yet remained silent.

Why? Botyoc thought as he watched the old man reach out and caress the girl's cheek.

A gut-wrenching scream pierced the air, and Botyoc ducked back behind the corner out of sheer reflex.

"She bit me!" screamed the gray-haired Elite. A second later came a sickening crunch as something impacted against metal. Fear took hold of the boy's heart, and panic drowned out his ability to listen. Frantically, he made himself as small as possible, and huddled against the wall.

An angry conversation broke out, yet Botyoc's mind barely registered it. Instead, he remained in a fetal position. Why? What was the point? he asked himself over and over again.

WHY? he demanded, and expected the voice in his head to answer. But for the first time, no replies came. Lost, his mind in turmoil, the boy waited in silence.

By the time he finally gave up, the light had begun to fade over the horizon. Slowly, Botyoc left the safety of the cover, and walked down the alley.

The crates were gone, undoubtedly taken away by servants, to be emptied at a landfill all the way down in the Southern Kingdom. Footprints carpeted the ground, as people passed by on the way home from work.

Yet the small body remained, untouched … forgotten.

Botyoc looked down, into the girl's unmoving eyes. Even near her end, she had suppressed the urge to plea for help, all in order to keep him safe. He didn't even get to learn her name. However insignificant her defiance might have been, the boy felt a change within him.

All I wanted was a loaf of bread.