She sat cross-legged in the sea of accusing, cold eyes. There was nothing for her there, and yet she still remained, demanding a love and respect that would never show itself. So she sat, looking beyond the harsh eyes, and never hearing the cruel comments. They touched her. Prodded her and poked her, hit her and kicked her. But she sat, never moving from her peaceful position.

A small boy came to her one day. He was young, very sweet, and as alone as any small boy ever is. Though his mum and dad had long since disappeared, he kept a plethora of friends, mostly small animals. His name was Christopher. He sat down in front of her and smiled. He was missing several teeth, though from decay or from normal growth, it was not known.

“Hello,” he said, in a quaint, polite manner. “I’m Christopher. May I ask your name?”

She did not answer him, instead staring at a large oak across the way. Her eyes were blank and empty, but they reflected a certain sadness that seemed eternal. Christopher frowned.

“It’s awfully rude to not answer me, you know. Perhaps you do not know who I am?” he questioned, looking her right in the face. Though she stared straight back at him, her sad gaze unwavering, she still did not answer. A bird landed next to her.

“I,” Christopher announced, standing as straight as he could, his frail, thin torso showing each tiny rib, “I am Lord Christopher, Master of Bird and of Beast. Certainly you’ve heard of me?”

She did not reply still, but stared at his malnourished form. Surely it had been a few weeks since this little boy had eaten. His ribs gleamed in the cool winter sun, and his vertebrae were prominent. He wore no coat, and shivered.

Sighing, Christopher sat down again, and looked at the beautiful woman. Her hair was limp ,and hung around a thin, grey face. Her eyes were sunken deep into her face, which gave her the haunted look the little boy had noticed earlier. Her hands lay on her lap, circling around the curve of her legs, as though she had once held a bundle, or a baby.

“It’s all right that you didn’t know who I was. I may be Master of Bird and of Beat, but nobody knows me. Nobody cares, either. I wonder why?” he asked with child-like wonder, his pale eyes staring wistfully at her face. He picked up a frosted leaf from the ground and began twirling it between his fingers. She stared at him. He stopped as a chill wind blew through.

“I bet you’re sick of the attention. You just sit there and stare, and people hate you for it. You don’t hurt anybody, and you’ve never done anything wrong, but they still spit on you and insult you and be so mean to you.

“But I have to wonder if I wouldn’t enjoy that attention. It’s more than I usually get. I never met my Daddy. He was gone before I was born. And Momma, she was always real sick. A guy used to stop by and he’d give her a shot of something, and then she’d be fine for a few hours, but the sickness always came back, and she would curl up on the mattress we shared, and she’d shiver a lot, but she’d be sweating. I didn’t understand until after she died.”

Christopher looked at his silent audience, his pale brown eyes filled with a mysterious, unknown glimmer. He looked at her sadly.

“I woke up one morning. Momma was all right, I guess. I went and got some breakfast from the trash can, and played with the rats for a few hours. They were my closest friends, those rats. Pete, Jeremy, and LuLu. Jeremy was my favorite. He was a brown rat, but he had little black paws, and a bright pink tail. He would wiggle his nose a lot, and he liked to give me rat hugs, which is when they nudge you with their nose. Anyway, I played with them, and then Momma called me over and asked me to take a nap with her. I said yes, of course. I adored Momma. When I woke up, she was really cold and stiff, so I put some blankets on her. But she didn’t wake up.”

Christopher paused in his narrating, holding his thin ribs as his stomach growled rebelliously. He smiled sheepishly at her, pulling the thin rags of his shirt over his protruding ribs, his breathing shallow and harsh. The sun was setting, and it was growing colder and colder. He continued.

“The guy that gave her the shots stopped by later that night. He was really upset when he found Momma. He yelled a lot and grabbed Jeremy, and broke his neck. I hid in the corner. He found me, though, and dragged me over to the mattress. He said she was dead, and he would give her a ‘proper addicts burial’, which just meant he dragged her out to the dumpster I ate out of and left her there. Then he left.”

Christopher began to play with the frozen ground, pulling out some frozen grass and scattering it back onto the lawn. He looked at her, and back to the grass, wrapping his arms around his knees, sniffling and looking more and more upset.

“I was really upset about Jeremy. I buried him, behind the warehouse I used to live in. Pete and LuLu were there too, though they were more interested by the rotting McDonalds food. I cried a bit. Jeremy was my favorite. And LuLu had baby rats coming, and Jeremy was their Daddy, and he never got to see his babies, just like my Daddy, and it was all because Mommy’s friend got mad, and I just didn’t understand,” Christopher wailed. He clutched his knees tightly and bit his lip, tears building up in his sorrow-stricken eyes. She watched him, silent, waiting for him to continue.

“LuLu had her babies. They were doing ok, for a while, but then they all died. I couldn’t do anything to help them. But I really did try! I gave them all the food I had. And after LuLu’s babies died, LuLu died. And finally, Pete, just a few days ago. I told him not to go near the sidewalk...” Christopher said, trailing off. His eyes, thick with tears not yet spilled, stared into the distance, as though imagining a life that he could have lived, had things been different. She stared at him, and he looked at her.

“And now I’m alone... but you’ll be my friend, right?” he asked, looking at her hopefully. She didn’t say anything. He began to cry softly. “You’ll be my Mommy, right?”With a choked sob, Christopher crawled into her arms and wept into her shoulder. The snow began to fall, thick and heavy, giving him a white blanket to sleep under. She held him, silent, her eyes empty.

The next morning, they found young Christopher in an eternal slumber, his head pillowed upon her limp hair, his body protected with a downy blanket of snow. He was practically solid. The paramedics picked him up and sighed.

“So young,” said the first one. “Probably only seven.”

They looked at him with quiet sadness as they loaded the body into the ambulance.

“It’s sad that he curled up with that old statue, rather than finding proper shelter from the cold,” said the other paramedic. The first one looked at the statue with sullen sadness as he walked back towards the ambulance.

“What sad secrets did he tell you before he died?” he pondered aloud.

She never replied, but her eyes looked sadder than usual.