Ch1. A Feast Isn't Possible

[12 years ago]

Narrator's POV

Standing at the brink of dawn, the eight year old boy silently watches as the funeral ceremony ends. Tears stream down his puffy cheeks, and he quickly wipes them away.

"What are we going to do about him?" A lady, short bobbed hair, looks at a manilla folder. "It says here that he's been through six foster homes in the last two years."

"Will any family want him back?" Another female, taller but tanner, questions the shorter one, getting the folder from her. "They all had complains about him," the shorter one answers.

"Then what are we going to- where is he?" Both heads turn to where the little boy was to see the space empty. "I could've sworn he was right there. So where did he go?"

"You don't suppose he ran away, do you?" They both stare at each other in horror before realisation hits them like a ticking bomb. "Oh shi-"

The boy was already halfway through town with one thought in mind: run away.

Running from town to town, the boy runs and runs until he got to the one place he always called home.

He opens the unlocked door and welcomes himself inside. After closing the door, he leans back and slides down, letting the tears stream down like a river, not caring that he's becoming a mess.

"What am I suppose to do?" He asks himself, wiping his never-ending tears, "I can't do anything by myself." He hiccups and slides back up.

Early memories surface his mind, like if it was just yesterday when his parents were brutally murdered. He walks around his only home and stops when he faces the lonely kitchen.

Rodents run in between his feet, but he was too focused on the memories that he didn't realize all the creepy crawlers and spirits just watching him, wondering what he's now going to do after his last family, who by the way was the only loveable home, passed away.

He sniffs one more time before checking everything to see if there's at least anything, that by a miracle has to survive for more than two years.

He wipes the last of his tears before exiting the house and walking to the nearby market.

As he enters, his presence brings a lot of astonishing gasps to the public. "Oh my God, isn't that the boy who's parents were murdered?" One of the customer questions the only clerk working this time.

"I certainly know that he's from the Jeon family, I just don't know his name," the clerk informs.

The little boy, upon receiving sympathetic looks, stares at different foods, hoping to get the message out. "Do you want that?" The little boy looks up and slowly nods his head at the clerk.

"Well tell you what, get anything you want and I'll buy it for you." The little boy got food that would last him months. "Are you planning to make a feast?" The clerk jokes but quickly deletes his smile after seeing the boy's face saddening.