Nixon awoke to a harsh banging sound, the sound reverberated within his head as his small hands worked to cover his ears from the abuse.

"Ge' up!" Mr. Adam's voice rang in it's gravelly way, Nixon winced as he stood. The scene of dozens of filthy boys standing ramrod still as they stared at the pot Mr. Adam had hit with a rock was a strange one, to be sure.

With a few stifled yawns the group made their way to the kitchen, where basins of soup - mush, thought Nixon bitterly - sat innocently, ready to be eaten.

Nixon realized if he were to run away  he would have to eat a copious amount, and breakfast was always a swarm of desperate hands and shifty eyes. Not enjoyable to say the least.

A boy with curly brown hair with dirt smudged across his face was pushed aside, Nixon watched neutrally as he crashed into the wooden floor, no doubt collecting splinters.

Nixon took purposefully loud steps as he approached the food, he made sure to appear like he could burn anyone he wanted to, anytime he wanted to. So, with a few forceful glares he had a clear path paved before him, the only price was the bitter mutters that came from behind, slurs of 'demon' and 'monster' were also common.

He didn't mind being a monster, at least he wasn't a hungry monster.

He needed, to eat, because he would flee this place before sundown.