Such a Pity

Coughing, the child rolled over on his cot that was haphazardly shoved into a walk-in closet. He was shivering, pulling the ragged covers over his frail body. His icy blue eyes filled with tears at the noises.

The noises from the bedroom.

And the two rooms being right next to each other, he could clearly hear it through the thin walls...

Loud moans, and the sound of a metal bed frame hitting the wall in a repetitive motion. The child took the wad of another blanket that he used as a pillow, putting it over his ears in an attempt to mask the sounds. Sobbing into the dirty mattress...

He must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he remembered was the creaky door coming open and the tall, scrawny figure of his mother standing over him.

"Good news, Kid..." she said with her nasal voice. "Péter came through and I finally got some money. Maybe we can buy you some food, Kid!"

Kid, whose name was actually Frigyes, cringed under the blankets, saying nothing and his mother walked away muttering. "Stupid kid..."

The child sat up, running his bony fingers through his long, brilliant red hair. His mother had been a prostitute for longer than he could remember, and thus, he didn't have any clue who his father was. Whenever he asked, she would always ask "Why do you care?" and ignore any further inquiry from him.

The six-year-old peeked out of his closet, careful to make sure Mother's last customer wasn't still around as he ventured into the dingy bedroom. It reeked of sex and cigarette smoke. But this was simply another thing he was used to...

His mother sat at the kitchen table, the only light in the room being a half-broken light swinging dangerously over sink. Frigyes, clad in the only outfit he owned (a pair of brown pants and a large black sweatshirt, both of which were nearly falling off from size), meekly approached his mother and tugged lightly at her red miniskirt. "Anya (mother)..."

A harsh reply. "What is it?" And it now became clearer what she was doing. She was leaned over the table, a straw in her nose, which she dragged along the table to methodically inhale a dull white powder.

"Anya, éhes vagyok. (I'm hungry)."

The lean woman sat up slightly, prodding at her nose and looking quite relieved. "Isn't there, uh... an apple tree or something in the backyard?"

Frigyes whined. "Anya, we sold that house, remember?"

The blonde woman stared at him for a moment, her eyes glazed with a strange glint to them. "Well, then go down to the outdoor market and steal a kurva apple, Kid!" Thus she returned to her drugs.

The little boy sniffled pathetically, making his way to the rickety front door...

Of all the things one could call his situation, sad is probably the last one he would want to hear from you. He lived like this for twelve more years... before he found a way out.

Nuns and the leaders of other religious organizations in town knew this child. When they saw him on the street they would hand him a piece of fruit, or a half a sandwich, or whatever food they had, and maybe a few small, comforting words. What they didn't realize is that they were starving him as badly as his mother was. They were just as neglectful, in their own way. Food was not what this child hungered for. That was not the starvation that nearly claimed his life. But they could always feel better about themselves when they fed him a little, or even said something to him on the street. It always made them feel like better people if they passed him and whispered amongst themselves...

"Isn't it such a pity?"