THEN

It had been nighttime when Alicia met the boy with the red bandanna. It had been cold and quiet, and she had just ran away from the torture she called home. She had been almost ten then, and she thought she knew everything she needed to in order to survive out of the house. She slumped down against a factory, her eyes shut, just wanting a bit of rest before she continued to go to find her new home. Wherever it was, it was nowhere near Mom or Dad.

"Hey. This is my spot."

Alicia started. She whipped her head around to where the voice was. What she found surprised her: a boy about her age, with a bronze necklace hanging from his neck and a red bandanna tied around his wrist. The look in his eyes made her jump; it was almost as though he were years older than her, despite the fact he seemed a month or so younger based on his size. There was pain in that gaze. Rage. Something along with them she couldn't explain. She ignored the chill it gave her.

"What do you mean, 'your spot'?" she said instead. "Do you own the street?"

He scowled at her. "I've been sleeping here for almost two years now, so I'd say so." He gripped the pendant of his necklace hard enough that his knuckles went pale.

"Well, I'm sleeping here tonight," she declared.

The boy glared. "Piss off."

"No." She got comfortable against the cool metal wall of the office building.

He turned away from her, clearly trying to pretend she didn't exist.

Alicia didn't like being ignored. "Hey! Did you run away too?"

"I don't have a home to run away from," he said flatly. "You should go back if you do." 

"I am not going back there!" she said with conviction.

He turned over, studying her face. "Why?"

"My parents hate me!" She looked down. "They'd hit me really hard if I went back."

He considered this for a moment. "But now you have nowhere to go."

"I'd prefer nowhere to there."

He sat up a bit. He looked her up and down. His studying made her squirm. Finally, he just said, "Fine."

She stayed quiet for a moment. "Why don't you have a home?"

He went rigid. "I..." He looked away. "My parents are gone."

"Where?" she asked.

"Dead gone."

"Oh." She had thought she was going to die before. She knew how horrible it was.

He sighed.

"What happened?"

His gaze strayed back toward her eyes. "They were shot. Bang, bang."

"Robber?"

"Sniper. They were military."

Alicia jumped. "Military?" 

"Uh, yeah?"

She balled her fists. "They must have been bad then, right?"

"What? No!" He seemed confused and defensive. "They were great people!"

She shook her head. He seemed... naïve, if he believed that. "Military people are bad."

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"My parents are in it. And they're terrible." She shook with anger.

"Not all military people are the same." He fidgeted with his bandanna. "Just like not all bakers are the same. There's one on this street who hits me with a stick every time I go in. The one one block over, though, gives me free bread."

"Are you sure?" she asked skeptically.

"Positive."

She curled up against the wall, shivering a little. "Am I a scaredy-cat?"

"Why?"

"For running away."

He smiled. "No. I think it was brave to try to get away from whatever is going on. It sounds like it's dangerous to try to go."

With that, the two had tried to get some sleep.

When Alicia woke up the next morning, the boy had left. She started to get up, when she found his red bandanna on top of her. She picked it up and a note was under it. She examined the cheap paper. It had a simple message in messy handwriting:

"Good luck."

She smiled and tucked the note, and the bandanna, away in her bag, and started back on the move. She and the boy never exchanged names: it would've made their world too real.