mk km (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} twiceuponatime) wrote,@ 2007-09-10 14:31:00 |
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The Crying Cave Chapter One
Genre: Historical drama
Warnings: angst, abuse, bond, minor for part, n/c, dub/con, violence
Title: The Crying Cave
Summary: It is early 1800's and Kip has lost his first two homes, one by accident and the second by choice. He now has the daunting task of learning to survive on his own. Unwilling to be a prostitute, he becomes a thief, falls for the innkeepers son and tries to find compassion in a cold, cruel world. A sort of Twain/Dickens cross story, just as dark, but more graphic, with adult themes.
Rating: NC-17 not for the innocent to read, adults in body and mind only please.
Warnings: Abuse, angst, slave, N/C, m/m, historical, mean, minor, heartbreaking, heartwarming, bond, violence, tort, poor hygiene
Feedback: Sure, if helpful, it's welcome
Word count: 37,000
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Chapter One
Kip called it the crying cave although it had never been named.
No one, besides him, even knew about it, it was well hidden in the forest and it was not a large cave. Simply formed by rain streams coming down the mountain and finding their way through the rocks instead of over and down. The entrance was small, but so was Kip. He had never been troubled with such things as too much food to eat in his short life and his growth had suffered the consequences.
His parents leaving him at the tender age of five had a lot to do with it. They had been poor, food was not plentiful even during that first half a decade of his life, but compared to after; it had been a daily feast. He could still remember that fateful day, of being told they were dead, having drowned when their small rickety boat overturned in water too cold, too raging to fight and he had not completely understood the implications.
The question for the townsfolk authorities had been, what to do with him? No relatives came forth to claim him, nor were any at the funeral. This all happened during a year that was well before the mine act had been enacted to prevent child labor and it was thought that perhaps the town could pay to have him taken in by one of the mine owners and trained.
Unfortunately for the town, and most fortunately for Kip, his size and age had not been in his favor. None believed the effort and money to feed and cloth him would be returned with sufficient work.
As people will talk, the word went around about little Kip and a very generous man, an older gentlemen named Tipton with two unmarried daughters one nearing twenty and one actually over, had come to them and offered to take the orphan for only twice the amount they wanted to compensate the mine owners with. Desperate, and glad for a solution, the requested amount had been summarily given and Kip had been turned over to his new family. Small and meek he entered this household, still grief-stricken.
Sadness over the past was replaced very quickly with dread over the future. Sometimes over the next few minutes.
For close to a decade he had remained with the Tiptons, worked hard and starved most of the time. Mr. Tipton was never above disciplining him with a hard, harsh hand, or a stick if the need arose, but his daughters, Penelope and Margaret, were even worse.
They were both unlovely girls who spent more than a fair share of their time primping in hopes of attracting a husband and Kip had been a God send, freeing them from the manuel work of running a household. He could scrub laundry, he could wash and clean and dust and sweep and when his indoor chores were over, there were gardens to tend and wood to chop. He had the task of delivering the eggs to town every morning, a round trip of twelve miles, and fetching back anything put on a list for him along with whatever money was left.
Money was very tight. Mr. Tipton had a small pension and along with money from the eggs and with some sewing work done mostly by Penelope, they just barely scraped by.
Five years into Kip's placement with this family, Penelope had found a man willing to marry her and that left her father, along with her older sister with even less money. Margaret took her displeasure out on the hapless Kip, she taunted him unmercifully, struck him for so much as a wayward glance or an off word. Not that he spoke much. They had long told him that he had nothing to say of interest to them.
It was a hard life for the child, but he was told over and over how very fortunate he was that they had taken him in. He didn't really feel lucky but he never voiced this, he wasn't completely stupid. He simply bowed and thanked them as was expected and then slipped away as soon as possible to find something to do and keep contact to a minimum. The less he saw of them, the less times he was reminded of his worthlessness and the less times he suffered blows at their hands.
Kip stayed to himself. He dreamed about when he was grown and could leave and seek his own way in the world. He had no real idea how or when this could or would happen, but it kept him going, kept his life from being too miserable as he went to bed sore and tired and with his little stomach pinching with hunger every single night.
After four more years, Margaret was offered a hand in marriage by a man with more years on him than her father had, and of course she had jumped on the chance with relief.
Although everyone clapped Mr. Tipton on the back for the successful raising, on his own, of two daughters-- charitably, without the word ugly ever thrown into his face-- he was actually unhappy with losing both of them. He had begun to like his life of relative leisure and the company that they had provided.
Kip, of course, had not been invited to this wedding, never considered part of the family and unwelcome in any social circumstance. He had been home and peeling potatoes when the now daughterless Mr. Tipton returned and went straight for the gin bottle on the top shelf of the cabinet. He did not greet Kip, nor had the boy expected to be greeted, that was why he was surprised an hour later when the man's voice, slurred and louder than usual, called out to him.
He went to his questionable benefactor's side and submissively stood for orders, only he got none, just the man's now bloodshot eyes on him. He waited, Kip was extremely patient and well trained not to speak out of turn.
One hand gripped him by the wrist and he was pulled closer, wincing at the expected slap or blow, finally opening his eyes again when neither was forthcoming.
"You're filthy," Mr. Tipton said with a touch of anger.
Kip washed his face and hands often, as he had much kitchen work, but he was not allowed to warm water for a bath for himself, nor often allowed to change his clothes, since he never had more than one set of them. Filthy was what he had been for many years and so he didn't answer, not understanding what the expected words would have been. On occasion, after the others had bathed and he was lucky enough to be alone, he had slipped into the used bathwater. His parents had long ago taught him to be clean and he feared lice and other such unpleasantries so he did what he could. But it was not often he was afforded this chance.
Mr. Tipton, now with a firm grip on his thin arms, shook him violently. Kip did little but take it and strive to keep himself impassive.
"Clean yourself up, boy. Then come back to see me, things have to change around here," Mr. Tipton shoved him away.
Kip almost fell. He caught himself and whispered the 'yes sir' that was ingrained before leaving at a walk, finding it difficult to keep himself from running.
He was faced with a dilemma. He had no other clothes to wear but what he had on. He was not supposed to use wood to heat water for himself. So how to obey the man without disobeying at the same time? He knew the only solution.
And so, he went unhappily to the river. He feared the water. On the banks he didn't mind standing but to actually get into what had killed his parents terrified him. It was all a matter of degrees. Mr. Tipton also terrified him when he was angry. So, with the decision made, he went to the river, undressed and with the bar of lye he had brought, Kip went in with his clothes in his hands and stood shivering in the freezing water scrubbing his clothes and then his body. He was purple and shivering before he was done, but he was relieved as well. He had accomplished what Mr. Tipton had asked and he had not drown. He wrung his clothes out with all his strength and then put them on wet to head home.
When the warmth came back to his body the heat dried his clothes enough not to puddle on the floor and that was when he felt safe to go inside and force himself to stand by the man's side again.
Mr. Tipton was in the same chair, snoring loudly, the gin bottle empty beside him. Kip sighed with relief and went back to finish cleaning the kitchen and to boil the potatoes for dinner. He was sorely tempted to peel an extra one for himself and he would have if the man hadn't acted so strangely, enough to frighten him into strictly obeying. Hunger he was used to. Mr. Tipton drunk and mad, he was not.
They had always left him something to eat, meager maybe; but something of the evening meal. When he came in from putting the chickens up in their pen from fox for the night, he found that Mr. Tipton had eaten and there wasn't a scrap left, not a single crumb.
Kip turned away, finding tears had sprung to his eyes. He closed them in an attempt to control himself, to stop the sobs that wanted to wrack his tiny frame and came out as snuffling sounds, only half abated. He was starving and it hurt and it would hurt all night. He would sleep poorly and dream badly and would hardly have the energy for the twelve mile hike before breakfast and all this flooded him and made being stoic just too difficult.
"What are you whining about, boy?" Mr. Tipton asked, his voice still somewhat slurred.
"Nothing, sir," Kip answered softly.
"Come here."
Kip went. Mr. Tipton looked him over and nodded.
"Much better. Much better. You see, we have a problem. How old are you now?"
"Fourteen, sir."
"Hmmpt. I thought as much, but you certainly do not look it. Poor stock you came from, very low-class lineage indeed, to be so small and so simple minded. Ah, well."
Kip felt his face redden, no matter how many times he heard this put down of his parents he could not get used to it. The store owner's wife, whom he saw on rare occasions when he brought the eggs, had more than once commented on the fact that he never seemed to grow and she asked if they fed him. She not only bolstered his spirits with her smile and concern, but she slipped him a couple small sweets each time and patted him gently. The chance to see her made the trip every day a sort of expectant adventure, but it was no more than once a month that she was there instead of her husband. He, unlike his wife, paid the boy no attention.
What she'd said, however, had placed the idea in his head that his size was somehow the Tipton's fault and not his parents. But, of course, it would be very unwise to have passed this information on to them, much as he wanted to when they spoke this way.
The man was still studying him. He squirmed under the stare, shifting his feet, worried.
"Get me a comb and scissors," Mr. Tipton said.
Kip was glad to get away, even for a few minutes, but he dared not take his time, either. He returned with the requested items and then stood and allowed the man to untangle his longish dark brown hair and trim to even it. The man put a hand under his chin, lifting his eyes from the floor and ordered the boy to look at him.
"Not too bad, if I say so myself. I think it possible you may bring us some of the money we need. Come, we are going into town."
Surprised, Kip blurted, "Now?"
The slap was instant, he reeled back and put his hand to his stinging cheek.
"Let's go," Mr. Tipton said, getting up without another word.
Kip sighed and followed at his side, none too closely, and they made it the six miles to town only ten minutes slower than Kip was when he went alone.
There was a paint-peeled house at the end of the main street and in the evening twilight that was already closing in, it didn't look as shabby as it did in the day, the windows were lit with lanterns and the porch was large and open with another lantern hanging from a pole by the door.
It was into this place that Mr. Tipton led Kip. He was greeted by a garishly made up woman of indeterminate age. She had on a tight, low slung dress and she smiled.
"Well, so this is the lad you told me about. What was his name?" the lady asked, looking him over.
"Kip. He's older than he appears. Many of the girls are younger than he."
"Very true, you should know," she smiled.
"Mabel, that is not proper to say in front of the boy," he chided.
"He will learn a lot that is not proper here, Richard," Mabel countered.
"So it must be. I leave him in your capable hands and will return for him… when, is midnight too early?"
"If he can find his own way home, it's best to leave him for the night, just to keep all options open."
Kip listened to their banter with some confusion. He understood none of it, for if he had, he would have turned tail and run for the hills already. Instead he just looked around, seeing a few young girls without much in the way of dress sitting about, talking and their eyes were all on him.
He, on the other hand, felt it improper to look at them without more of their clothes on and he kept his eyes averted.
When Mr. Tipton left, Mabel put her hand out to him and he took it automatically. She led him over to the girls and introduced him to them.
"He's prettier than you are, Sally," one of the girls said and another giggled. Kip just blushed even more than he already was. Sally simply crossed her arms in front of her breasts and declared, loudly, "He is not!"
"Kip, you will wait here," Mabel informed him and he nodded and sat as far as he could from the others, too shy and too apprehensive to make friends so easy.
As the evening hours went by, he watched men come in and watched Mabel greet them and take money from their hands. Then, each went to a girl and she got up and followed him out of the room. Kip couldn't see what happened after, but while he sat there, he saw other girls he hadn't met come back in and saw men leave.
When his turn came, he looked up at the man before him with surprise. He had begun to believe that since he was not a girl, he would not be called on, although he didn't know why he had reasoned that. It simply made sense to him that if he was to be approached as they were, he would at least be given an idea why and he had not. Kip accepted a lot of things in life without asking, questions often got him struck, he was used to watching as his only means of satisfying curiosity, but now he was worried.
Kip got to his feet. He wasn't quite sure he was supposed to, but he decided to act the way the girls had and hope he was doing it right. The man was very large about the middle, so much so that his buttons were strained and he walked with his shoulders back as if for balance. Yet, his legs appeared slim, strangely, hardly seeming able to hold the rest of him up. His clothes were fine and his grooming excellent, he was of upstanding breeding despite his physical flaws. Kip saw his robust condition as something to envy, actually, meaning he had the money to eat well. He could only wonder what that would be like.
"Well, what are you waiting for, let's be at it," the man finally said when Kip didn't move. The boy blinked. He was afraid to ask where, he tried to appear to know what he was doing and he left the room by the same exit the girls had. He felt the man behind him, close, felt a hand on his back and then lower on his buttocks and he shivered at the touch, moving faster and beginning to panic a little since he had no idea what was going on.
The man was impatient and goaded him to a staircase, pushing him now to get him to move and Kip climbed, wanting to ask, but not daring to.
He was led to a room and he went inside, the man following. Immediately, the man began unbuttoning his vest while Kip stood there mute.
"Are you daft, lad? Have the bed turned down and your clothes off before I get there, won't you," he shook his head.
"Sir?" Kip asked. "Turned down? Clothes off?"
The man stopped for a minute. He went to Kip and took his face in his large hands, bent and kissed him full on the mouth. Kip tried to pull away at first but the hands were strong and he submitted, feeling the large body against his and then he completely panicked when the man's tongue darted past his lips and licked at the inside of his mouth, over his teeth, gagging him. When the man let go, he jumped back all the way to the wall, his eyes wide with terror, shaking uncontrollably.
"What is the matter with you, anyway?" the man growled.
"W-why… did you d-d-do that?" he dared to ask.
"What do you think you're here for? What's your objection?"
"I d-don't know w-what I'm here f-for, sir," Kip answered.
"Are you serious, lad? Do not tell me you have never done this," the man's brow furrowed.
"D-done what, sir? I have never been here before. I-I… they never said… what I was to do."
"Oh, dear heavens," the man said, he went to the bed and collapsed on it. He was silent a minute, then said, more softly."Come here, boy."
Kip went to him fearfully, trembling violently before him. The man looked into his eyes.
"What's your name?"
"K-Kip, sir."
"Alright, Kip. Don't be afraid. I'm sorry, truly I am. No one told me," he shook his head. "I don't understand why, God, did Mabel expect me to…" he shook his head again. "Calm down, now. I won't do anything. I'll take you back downstairs as soon as you're ready. I won't be the one, the first… "
"Sir. Please. I don't understand," Kip said softly.
"Yes, I know," he smiled. "That's the problem, lad. Here, sit down with me. Where do you live?"
"I live with the Tiptons. With only one now, the other two are gone. Mr. Tipton brought me here tonight, but never said why. Am I supposed to… kiss you? Or kiss others? Is that what the girls do? Why would people kiss ones they don't know?" Kip realized that he was asking too many questions and he bowed his head as he took a seat beside the man. "Oh, sorry, sir. I am just confused."
Kip shut his mouth, it had gotten him into trouble too many times, but this stranger didn't slap him or laugh at him. He simply patted his shoulder and answered him.
"No one should kiss anyone they don't want to," the man told him said gently and Kip half-smiled, grateful.
With Kip once more relaxed, the man beckoned him back to the lobby where they had met and he lit into Mabel.
"How dare you do that to me! Send that boy home, Mabel, he has no knowledge of this place or its goings on. Do you think others will feel differently about it than I do? I don't think so. He's scared to death, and much younger in mind than his years."
Mabel put her hands on her hips, turned to Kip who had scrunched himself into as small a position as possible, his knees under his chin.
"Didn't your father tell you anything?" she asked.
"M-my father is dead. Mr. Tipton did not tell me anything, ma'am."
"I am sorry, Mr. Goldberry. I will refund your money and you may still have your choice of the others," she offered.
Placated, he sniffed and took a deep breath. "That will be fine."
Once the man set off once more for the stairs with a young woman, she grabbed Kip by the arm and dragged him to the door. She threw a shawl about her shoulder and brought him out into the night. She headed for the saloon.
Inside, she looked around until she found what she was looking for, a man alone sitting in a dark corner, obviously inebriated, and she went to him.
"I thought I might find you or your brother here, I come with a proposition. Kip, you see, needs to be broken in and I know you can't afford to come round often. So I offer you a free services every week for a fortnight in exchange," she said to him, sweeping Kip's hair back. "He's quite lovely, don't you think?"
He sat up straighter and looked her over with narrow, cold eyes.
"Would you be interested?" she asked.
The man laughed cruelly. "You want me to deflower one of your whores?"
Mabel did not even wince at the crude words. "That's right. I wasn't sure whether you'd mind, him being a lad and all, you must admit, it's a generous offer."
"Well, now there's an offer I just can't refuse," he took Kip's face in one hand and lifted it to him.
"When you're done, bring him back, you know where I am."
"If I do this, I decide how long to keep 'em. Maybe until morning."
Mabel agreed, handing the thin arm to the man who grasped it and staggered to his feet. Kip found himself once more climbing stairs with a man against his back. He was shoved roughly into a room and he stood there and watched the man undress. He was old and tough and lean, muscular from hard work and he smelled of leather and dust.
He went to Kip, pulled the clothes from him and threw him down onto the bed, holding the writhing form with his body as he proceeded to claim his prize. He took no consideration of the begging or pitiful cries, educating poor Kip without care, stripping away his innocence and leaving him with no choice but to run away at the first opportunity presented to him.
Kip woke in the morning, not surprised that his eyes were still wet with tears, knowing that he had probably cried in his sleep and struggled in his dreams.
Slowly, afraid, he dared to look to the side, to the warmth against him and saw that what lay across him was the horrible man's arm. It was dark with hair and very tanned. He was at first scared to move. Then it became an impulsion. He had to get away while he had the chance. He could not understand what the man had done to him, he'd had no knowledge of such things and he wished with all his might that he still didn't.
Obviously the man had taken a good deal of pleasure in the act, Kip could recall the grunting moans timed with the jarring thrusts into his body. He had seen animals in a similar position and knew they were creating life, that was what Mr. Tipton had told him. But he was a boy. He could not carry life and so the act was somehow… not right. The fact that it had felt like he was being split in two only confirmed this. He didn't understand anything; only he knew some people seemed to enjoy harming or humiliating others although the why of this was lost on him.
Perhaps, he mused glumly, it was just him.
He thought about Margaret, her cruelty sometimes when she had him alone, pinching and slapping and pushing. She beat him for the slightest transgression, and he had seen her smile while he obediently fetched her the thick stick behind the front door to hit him with. More than once she had ordered him to kneel at her feet, reminding him of his place and how unloved he was and she always grinned wickedly while tears ran down his face.
The boy clenched his teeth and bit hard on his lip before he broke down into tears again. He had to control his thoughts, none of that mattered right now.
Kip began an inch by inch withdrawal from beneath the arm and away from the wicked man who'd hurt him. It still hurt. It was a burning pain, tolerable in comparison to being caned, but nonetheless unpleasant. Scarcely breathing, he moved as smoothly and slowly as he possibly could. It took effort. He wanted to jerk back and make a run for it, every second he just grew more frightened that after all the time he'd taken the man would wake.
When the arm tightened, pulling him back, all his control left in that second and he twisted under the arm and threw himself off the foot of the bed in one clumsy move. He landed on his backside and stiffened at the pain, this hesitation cost him dearly.
The man swore, rolled over and was on his feet before Kip could scramble up and get to the door.
"Oh, no, you don't. I ain't done with you yet. Besides, I promised to bring you back. Now get over there on the bed, don't force me to drag you."
"Please, sir, let me go," Kip begged, trying to sound sensible. "I just want to go home. I have chores to do."
"You have a chore right here," the man said lewdly, his hands slid to touch his sizable morning erection and Kip's eyes traveled down and widened at the sight.
He stood there for several long seconds and then he sank slowly to his knees and clasped his hands together.
"Please, sir. Please don't. It hurt awful bad. I know I am only an orphan and of no 'count breeding. But I beg anyway, sir, for your mercy."
The man chuckled, the boy was arousing him even more, he looked so beautiful knelt there and pleading.
"On the bed with you, cur. Now."
With a strangled tiny whimper of despair, Kip bowed his head with what looked to the man like total submission, got slowly to his feet and started for the bed. The man, eager with anticipation, climbed back in and waited, so hard already it hurt, he was going to take the boy so harshly this time he would think it was a gentle caress the first time. His whole body was jerking at the thought. Kip took a few steps, he could hear the loud, heavy breath of his tormentor and suddenly he turned and bolted, his eyes wild as he unlatched the door, threw it open and ran madly from the room.
Kip took the stairs three and four at a time, jumping from the fifth one right to the ground level, barely faltering on landing and then he was out of the saloon and gone before the man could even pull his clothes and boots back on. He shook his head and then let out a short laugh while he finished dressing.
"Good luck to you, little waif," he said under his breath. "Yer gonna need it."
Kip was crying, huddled and still naked behind the livery stable, hidden by the shrubs and other weeds in full spring growth.
He didn't know what to do or where to go. He was cold and very hungry and still feeling the effects of the long night, the pain was bad again. If he went home, he was sure he would not only be beaten, but he would most likely be sent back to Mabel's. He just couldn't face that, not for anything.
He felt danger all around him, there was no place safe, no one to help him or hold him against his sorrowful plight.
He had to try to make it on his own, but he had no clue as to how. Kip stayed like that all day, too scared to move and he drifted in and out of sleep. After what seemed like endless hours, night fell again and hunger and thirst, as well as being chilled right to the marrow of his bones urged him up.
He snuck around the corner and looked around. He saw no one. He could hear the sounds of horses within the large barn, snorting dust from their noses and he crept inside. It was warmer, but not overly so and the first thing that crossed his mind was to find something to wear. He checked every corner, every stall and along all the walls but found nothing but an old hat and a cracked pair of galoshes.
His eyes fell on the saddle racks and the blankets used to prevent the leather from chafing the animals. He looked those over and finally settled on one that was more square than the others. Using the old ropes left hanging everywhere he tried to tie it around himself somehow. This wasn't working. He tried to remember watching Penelope stitch and mend clothes and the idea hit him to poke a hole in it just big enough for his head. How?
Finally, Kip settled down in a corner hidden by old bales of straw with a pitchfork across his lap and began to pick at the material with the tines, pulling out threads one by one and breaking them. He worked with patient diligence and finally, more than an hour later he was able to stretch the blanket over his head. He tied it at his waist with rope and it hung to his knees, scratchy and smelling of sweat, but warm and he felt much more at ease covered thus. He chewed on hay while he worked but was unable to swallow it.
He went, then, into one of the horse's stalls and put his face into the bucket hung on the wall, gulping the water until his stomach started to cramp. He stood there with his eyes closed, his hand on the warm back of the chestnut gelding calmly munching, until the pain subsided. He put his arms around the animal's neck and leaned against him, again tears rolled down his cheeks, but he reprimanded himself for his behavior. Crying would solve nothing and he patted the horse and left the stall, it was then that he took notice of the feed bins.
Starving, he went to the bin that held oats and shoved a handful into his mouth. It was dry and tasteless but he ate it until his hunger dulled some at the edges. He was beginning to feel at home in the livery, no one had come in and the sounds of the horses were comforting to the lonely child. He didn't want to leave.
Still, he knew he had to be long gone from the town before morning came again. He wondered if Mr. Tipton was sorry now for sending him to Mabel. Maybe, the man missed him? Maybe he would be welcome back home.
His eyes closed. All the wishful thinking in the world wouldn't change the fact that Mr. Tipton didn't think very highly of him, had told him a hundred times that he was an unlovable orphan, lucky to have a dry sleeping place and enough food to keep him alive. He had no home anymore and he knew it. Not unless he wanted to let… no, he couldn't. He just couldn't, he shuddered at the mere thought of the horror of the night before. No. There was no going back.
Kip left the livery sadly, his feet dragged some, he had never felt more worthless or unwanted, which was saying quite alot.
He wandered off from the town and into the woods, going deeper and feeling lost. It was the next day that he stumbled across the crying cave, literally. He was tired, forlorn and not watching where he was going. One foot slipped off a rock and he found himself with a leg hanging off into space. He gazed down at the hole and at that particular moment, exhausted and with barely a care if he lived or died, it looked enticing. He ducked down under the rock and followed the underground path until it widened enough that he could actually stand. Very little light came in, and he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dimness before he could really see where he was.
During these minutes he listened to the sound of slow, hollow dripping. In his mind, it was the sound of tears as if the cave itself was weeping and he named it without realizing it.
Once he could see, he was actually sort of relieved. The slow descent of the entrance hid the place and it was the size of a large room. There was water along one wall and there were rocks about, but the side nearest the exit was dry and looked protected. The very weary Kip collapsed there on the sandy earth floor and lay down completely. Within a very short time, curled up miserably tight, he was asleep.
Kip never wanted to leave the safe, protected haven he had found. The desolate sound of the cave crying mirrored his own loneliness. He huddled there and matched it, teardrop for teardrop. He just couldn't stop crying much that day, but eventually he ran out of energy for it and instead thought about how badly hunger gnawed at him.
He left his sanctuary, finally.
He nibbled at what he found in the woods, most of the plants were exceedingly bitter. He was afraid of the mushrooms, having been told that most were poisonous. The thought of death frightened him much less than the imagine of the throes he had been told he would go through before he died. A long, slow painful death by mushroom sounded just as bad as surrendering himself back to Mabel.
Food was just not available anywhere he decided as he made his slow way back to the town. At one of the houses along the road before he really got to the village, he made two discoveries.
He had stopped to watch a mother with a child, as they came out of the house and headed for the barns, laughing. The boy skipped ahead and then ran back and the fond mother caught him and lifted him into the air. This made the boy laugh all the harder while she swung him and set him on his feet again.
Kip watched, remembering that once, long ago, he had been loved, although he knew there were none left alive for him to ever be again. It was so long ago, he tried to remember what it felt it, his breath came ragged when he couldn't seem to get hold on the memory. He tried hard to conjure his mother's face, to hear again her voice. He let out a sob, then put his hand over his mouth to quell any further sounds he might make. That was when he made his first discovery.
It was some sort of pie, he could see it cooling in an open window and his eyes widened into saucers, his stomach began to rumble and he wiped drool from the corner of his mouth. He just stared at it, desperately, that luscious-looking pie. Fear of being seen and caught kept him still and hidden for awhile longer, watching.
He made his second discovery right about then. There was a newly planted garden at one corner of the yard, just barely sprouting seedlings, but it hit him that there would be many gardens at many houses and they would all be started now, soon to fill with all sorts of beans and tomatoes and radishes and peppers…
Poor Kip was now swallowing saliva constantly as the thought of all the food that would soon be available hit him. He felt hope and with it came a spurt of bravery. He made a run for the window, grabbed the pie and took off with it. He could hardly stand the wonderful smell as he wrapped it in the blanket tied about him and ran as fast as he could and as long as he could before dropping to the ground and tearing into it savagely.
Strawberry pie. Not that he actually tasted it much, he devoured the entire thing within a matter of minutes, then licked his small fingers and then even the blanket, spitting out horsehairs. He sat back against a rough tree and his eyes closed. He began to cry again, this time with a mixture of relief for the end of the long days of hunger, but also for his aloneness. He was now a thief. On his own, unloved and unwanted. He would be hung if he was caught, there was no longer any chance that he could simply go home, he was a criminal, no good. The Tiptons had always been right.
He said he was sorry to the world for being born into it, for what he was now reduced to and he could almost feel the hatred of it for him. He understood without any bitterness and didn't blame it, but the ache of the knowledge hurt terribly. He didn't know exactly why he wanted to live so much with so little to live for, but his heart beat strong in his chest and he would keep trying as long as he could. He had already found a source of food and a home.
Kip wandered back, finding his way to the crying cave and ducking inside. This was his home now, and he crouched into the corner and kept his eyes tightly closed not to see the darkness when it crept into his little world, for it frightened him.
He also found it oddly fitting.
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