The Little House in the Gutter

The sky was th crimson red of a bleeding wound. The falling snow was heavily laced with filth as if tainted with the morbid reflections of this earth's inhabitants. Among the ruins f this metropolis stirred the suddle limb of a child barely past infancy. He sailed across the city leaving a trail of small footsteps that were subsequently buried under th heavy heaps of snow the same way the Reaper embellishes all traces of scores of lives that once roamed this earth.1

But this bleak scenery didn't seem to upset our little solider who persisted on with such stamina unfamiliar t his frail body. Neither that nor the looks of disgust bestowed on him by some pedestrians lessen his enthusiasm. In his hands was a small parcel which most likely was a book. But to this little boy,it was more than a book. This book was worth five months of mopping floors at the mall after school. It was endless endless dozens of spills that momentarily mirrored his angelic face before being blurred. It was that ache down his spine for all these hours he slaved.2

None of that mattered. Nothing will ever matter after tonight. Tonight his father's eyes will light up again! Time will never erase the memory of his father's face that day when the bank came and evacuated their home. There he stood a ghost of a man as he watched his life being trolled away. His face took n an even paler shade of white when his book collection was being loaded. The only passion that consoled him after the death of his wife. Well that and that little boy that stared up to him with brown eyes full of adoration. Eyes s full of divine affection very similar to the look in his eyes at this very moment. Tonight he will catch a glimpse of an era long gone but much missed. All the bullying and insults were drowned and demolished in his quest, yes quest, to bring happiness t the most important person in his life.3

Such happy reflections were passing through his mind.  A spark of content building up inside his heart kept him going on. The unemployment check arrived early this month so his father won't have to cast his head down to that filthy landlord. The old lady next door will have a ht dinner ready and her apathy never failed to turn a couple of mouthfuls into a feast.4

The tall skyscrapers started to give way to the modest alleys of the gutter. His father laid asleep drought with pneumonia. With a kiss he was awaken to start into the eyes of his child.5

There was a feast that night. There was dinner to be consumed. There was gifts to be given. There was the father's delight with a gesture so pure and selfless that not even malady could cast a shadow on. There was the love adjoint two souls. There was more happiness and bliss in two rooms in the gutter than a mansion adorned with treasures but void of sympathy. There was peace.6