8. The First Day

Aaron stood frozen in the alley, his small, trembling fists clenched at his sides. He didn't know where to go, what to do. The memories of this life told him one thing: survive. But how? He felt a strange sense of determination. And now, he was expected to navigate an unknown world that was cruel and unforgiving to him.

He took a hesitant step forward, his bare feet scraping against the rough, uneven stones. The pain was sharp, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn't stay here. The alley was too narrow, making him feel claustrophobic, and the walls seemed to close in on him with every passing second. 

Aaron looked around the alley, his eyes wandering around expecting someone to jump him. He felt jittery and nervous. He needed to find food, shelter, something, anything that would help him survive. But where? The memories of this life were incomplete, and he couldn't remember any of the exact details. He vaguely remembered the marketplace he frequented, the crowded streets. But those memories were distant, almost foreign, as if they belonged to someone else.

As he stumbled out of the alley and into the wider street, the world opened up before him, but it offered no comfort. The buildings were tall and narrow, their surfaces weathered and worn, with thatched roofs and shuttered windows. The streets were crowded, filled with people going about their daily lives, but no one paid him any attention. He was invisible. 

The air was thick with the sounds of shouting, argument, and the clatter of carts rolling over cobblestones, unlike the silence he felt when he was in the alley. The smells of roasting vegetables, freshly baked bread, and the ever-present stench of garbage and decay were overwhelming.

Aaron's stomach growled once again, louder this time, and he felt a pang of desperation. He needed food. He remembered stealing, begging, doing whatever it took to survive. But the thought of stealing made his chest tighten with fear. He had never stolen anything in his life. The idea of taking something that didn't belong to him felt wrong, unnatural, and kind of made him scared. But what choice did he have? He couldn't just starve.

He spotted a stall nearby, its wooden counter piled high with loaves of bread. The smell was intoxicating, and his mouth watered. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced around, looking for the stall owner, but the man was busy arguing with a customer, his back turned. This was his chance. Interestingly he could understand their language, but it was vastly different from what he was used to.

"Fve silver pennies for a loaf of rye bread? You're trying to scam me! I paid three just last week." the female customer said loudly.

"Well, things change, don't they? Rye's gone up. And, truth be told, I've got a few… unexpected expenses myself. Wife's got a new babe, you see. Little bugger screams like a banshee. Needs feeding. Also some rats discovered my grain sack." The stall owner said with a glint in his eyes while looking sad.

"That's hardly my concern, baker. I need this bread. And I won't be gouged. Old Man Tiber charges less." the customer argued back.

"Tiber's bread? You want something that tastes like sawdust mixed with rat feces, be my guest. You come here for my bread, dame. You know it's the real deal. Soft on the inside, crusty on the outside… the kind that makes a man happy. Know what I mean?" the baker said with a scoff.

Aaron slowly crept closer, his small hands trembling as he saw the stall owner in a heated argument with the customer. He reached out and tried to make himself look as small as possible, his fingers brushing against the rough crust of a loaf. 

His heart raced like it was beating in his throat, and he felt a pang of guilt, but he pushed it down. He had to do this. He had to survive. He grabbed the loaf and turned to run, but his foot caught on a loose stone, and he stumbled, falling hard onto the cobblestones. The bread slipped from his grasp, rolling away from him.

"Hey!" a voice shouted, and Aaron looked up to see the stall owner glaring at him, his face red with anger. "You little fu*ker!"

Aaron scrambled to his feet, panic surging through him. He turned to run, but the man was faster. He grabs Aaron's wrist, with surprising strength. Aaron yelps and tries to pull away, but his grip is like iron.

"Trying to steal from under my nose, you little rat? I'll teach you a lesson that you will remember!" Aaron's eyes widen with terror

Then he hauls Aaron up, ignoring his struggles. He shakes him roughly, then throws him to the ground. The boy lands hard, his breath knocked out of him. The stall owner towers over him, his face contorted with rage.

Aaron felt a sharp pain as the man's hand connected with the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. He kicks Aaron hard in the ribs, worsening his already bruised body. Then he cries out in pain, curling into a ball. Trying to protect himself as the man kicked him, the blows landing on his ribs, his back, and his legs. The pain was overwhelming. But the man is unrelenting and kicks him again, and again until Aaron has tears running down his cheeks.

"Please!" he begged, his voice choked with sobs. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't do it again. I beg you!"

But the man didn't stop. The kicks kept coming, each one harder than the last. Aaron's vision blurred, and he felt himself slipping away, the pain fading into a dull, distant ache. He didn't know how long it lasted, but eventually, the man relented and his assault stopped, his voice harsh and final.

"That's what you get for stealing! Next time, I'll break your bloody legs! Now get out of my sight before I do something worse!"

*Ptui*

"Waste of good bread," the man spat near Aaron as he saw the bread all dirtied up.

Aaron lay there, trembling, his body wracked with pain. He could barely move, barely breathe. The world around him was a blur of noise and color, but he couldn't focus on any of it. All he could feel was the pain, the fear, the overwhelming sense of helplessness.

But he tried his best to stand up and get out of the man's sight before he would kill. His ribs throbbed with every breath, and his legs felt like they were made of lead. He looked around, his vision swimming, and saw the loaf of bread lying a few feet away, the man hadn't taken it. He limped towards it, his hands shaking, and grabbed it, clutching it to his chest. He didn't care that it was dirty, that it was broken. It was food, and he needed it.

He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling, and limped away from the stall, clutching the bread tightly. He didn't know where he was going, but he couldn't stay here. He needed to find somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest, even if just for a little while.

The streets were a maze, and he wandered in them aimlessly, his mind foggy with pain and exhaustion, barely functioning. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the cobblestones, and the air grew cooler. He shivered, his thin tunic offering little protection against the chill. He needed shelter, but he didn't know where to go. The memories of this life told him to find a doorway, a corner, somewhere out of sight. But the thought of sleeping on the cold, hard ground made his chest tighten with fear.

Eventually, he found a narrow alley, tucked away between two tall buildings. It was dark and quiet, and the ground was littered with debris, but it was better than nothing. He sank to the ground, his body aching, and leaned against the rough stone wall. He looked at the dirty bread that had become even dirtier by the grime of his hands. It looked unpalatable, but he had no other choice. He blew on it in the hopes of making it even a tiny bit cleaner but to no avail, so he could only steel himself and his stomach. 

He tore off a piece of the bread and shoved it into his mouth, chewing quickly, barely tasting it. It was dry and stale with a muddy taste. It was the worst thing that he had ever tasted. He felt regretful about the times he had been picky about his food and would nag and grumble to his mother. But this was his only option, it was better than nothing as it filled the emptiness in his stomach if only a little.

As he ate, the memories of his old life flooded his mind his family, his home, the warmth, and everything else. He wanted to cry, to scream, to beg for someone to help him. But there was no one. He was alone, completely and utterly alone.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the alley grew darker. Aaron curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself, trying to stay warm. The pain in his body was a constant ache, and his mind was a whirlwind of fear and despair. He didn't know how he would survive this, how he would make it through the night, let alone the days to come.

But as he lay there, shivering in the darkness, a small spark of determination flickered in his chest. He couldn't give up. Not yet. He had to keep going, no matter how hard it was. He had to find a way to survive, to get back to his old world, to his family. He didn't know how, but he would. He had to.

The night stretched on, long and endless, and Aaron drifted in and out of a restless sleep. His ribs throbbed with every subtle move he made, a dull, constant ache that radiated outwards, making his whole body feel tender. 

When the first light of dawn crept into the alley, Aaron opened his eyes, his body still stiff and aching, and his stomach still empty. He didn't know what the day would bring, but he knew one thing: he would survive. He had to.