Ran Away

After that day, the three of them began living their lives in a new rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. The girls, now understanding how much the boy did for them, decided they couldn’t let him carry everything alone anymore. So, the three of them started going out to different parts of the city during the day.

Each of them begged in their own little corner—quietly, respectfully. The boy still laid out his shirt and sat in silence, while the girls tried to ask passersby kindly, their small voices filled with hope. At the end of each day, they returned to their little alley and pooled whatever money they had. Some of it went to food and water, the rest they carefully saved, storing it in a tin can they kept hidden beneath some crates.

Three years passed this way. They didn’t grow much in size, but they grew in other ways. Stronger, smarter, closer. They had learned how to survive together. Their little shelter was still poor, but it had become more like a home. It had cloth walls now, patched together with whatever they could find—old rugs, discarded tarps, even stitched-together sacks. They had a few bits of broken furniture, a crate for sitting, and a wooden board they used to keep things dry. It was small, cramped, but it was theirs.

And now, for the first time in a long while, they had a plan. Something they had been saving for.

Spring had arrived. The air was warmer, and the snow had long melted. The streets, once buried in white, now bustled with life. Birds sang in the trees, and the scent of flowers drifted through the wind. One sunny day, the three of them were out getting food like usual. Their little hands clutched coins as they weaved through the crowds.

While walking back, the girls noticed something bright and colorful in the distance.

"Look over there!" the gray-haired girl said, pointing with excitement.

It was a festival, right in the heart of the city. The streets were lined with banners and ribbons, and bright flowers bloomed from hanging baskets. Stalls stood at every corner, selling toys, treats, and sparkling trinkets. Children laughed as they chased each other around. Music echoed gently through the streets.

The three kids stood at the edge of the street, their eyes wide.

"It’s so pretty," the white-haired girl whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

None of them had ever seen something like this up close. They always stayed in the outskirts. The boy looked around nervously, unsure if they should go further in. But when he saw the joy on the girls’ faces, he gave a small nod.

So, they explored.

They didn’t have money to buy anything, but they wandered through the crowd, admiring the lights and sounds. They watched jugglers tossing colorful balls, dancers spinning in time with the music, and magicians performing tricks that made children gasp.

They watched, laughed softly, and forgot about the world—just for a little while.

It was a good day. The kind that felt like a dream.

When the sun began to set and the festival lights began to glow softly, they yawned and stretched, then walked back to their little alley. That night, they fell asleep with full bellies and happy hearts.

The next day felt like any other. The three of them each went to their usual spots. The girls chatted softly as they begged, and the boy sat quietly as usual, his shirt spread neatly on the ground.

That evening, they met up again, and their bags had more coins than usual.

"We got so much today!" the gray-haired girl beamed.

"Let’s get something yummy! I want that warm bread again!" the white-haired girl added.

They bought warm bread, clean water, and even a few apples that still had their shine. They sat on a quiet curb and shared everything between them, laughing softly as they ate.

After dinner, they started walking back home, chatting about what they saw at the festival the day before.

Then—a loud sound echoed through the street.

They stopped in their tracks. It was sudden, like something crashing or falling.

They looked around.

Nothing.

"…Did you hear that?" the gray-haired girl asked quietly.

"Yeah," the white-haired girl said. "But… I don’t see anyone."

Before they could say more, a strange shadow appeared before them. It hovered in the middle of the street.

It looked like a girl’s shape, but something was wrong. It didn’t walk—it floated. Its whole body was black, darker than the night around it. Two large wings extended from its back, and it made no sound, no movement.

The boy’s chest tightened. He looked to his side—

The girls were gone.

He spun around. The streets were empty. The noise of the city had vanished. It was just him—and the shadow.

His eyes widened in fear. His feet turned and he ran.

But something grabbed his ankle. He fell hard onto the cold stone. He turned—

The shadow was holding him. Its form was still, yet its presence felt overwhelming. It began to speak—not in any language he knew, but in something that echoed in his head like a bad dream.

He tried to shake free, kicking and squirming. But the grip was too tight.

Then, the shadow let go—and suddenly, he was pulled upward by something unseen. His body lifted off the ground.

The shadow floated toward him. Its shape dissolved into black mist—and rushed straight into his chest.

The boy screamed.

Pain shot through every part of him. His chest burned. Dark spots spread across his skin like a disease. Blood poured from his mouth, his nose, his ears, even his eyes.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t scream anymore. It was like the air was being stolen from his lungs.

And then—He blinked. The pain was gone. He looked around. The girls were there. They were walking with him down the same street. Nothing seemed wrong. He stopped. He looked at his hands. No blood. No black marks.

The white-haired girl turned. "…Are you okay?"

He paused, then nodded quietly.

The sun was setting. They reached their alley—but it wasn’t there. Their shelter… was gone. The crates, the cloth walls, the little pieces of home—they were gone. They ran around the area, hoping someone just moved it. But there was nothing.

Then—they heard footsteps.

A tall man stepped out of the shadows. His face was hidden, but his grin was sharp. Two others followed behind him. The children froze. The tall man said something, and one of the others began walking toward them.

"He’s coming!" the white-haired girl yelled.

The boy didn’t wait. He grabbed both their hands—and ran.

They ran through the alleys, dodging corners and slipping into side paths. The footsteps followed. The men were chasing them. They wouldn’t stop.

"Why are they after us?!" the gray-haired girl cried.

"We didn’t do anything!" the white-haired one shouted.

They didn’t know why these men wanted them. But they knew they couldn’t be caught.

The boy suddenly stopped at a quiet street and pointed.

The city wall.

"You want to leave?" the gray-haired girl asked.

He nodded.

And so they moved. Slowly, carefully, they avoided the guards and slipped past the gate when no one was looking.

They left the city behind. They had no home now. No food. No idea where they were going. But the city wasn’t safe anymore. And all they had left—was each other.