New York City. A bustling community of people, buildings, businesses, lifestyles, and enviorments. Where cultures from all over the world come together in this one city, and fill it with the joy and wonder that is this world.

Give me a break. This place is only great for the rich and the spoiled. The only time this place is actually bearable is in the summer, and even then, the bugs, the heavy overlay of smog and the scent of gasoline is nauseating.

People on tv are always saying this place is the best. Especially the hot clubs and amazing sense of style all of New York seems to possess. The only style i've actually seen is the faux fur coat my next door neighbor wears all the time. Something that looked like it could of used a seriously good cleaning.

My name, by the way, is Drew Blitzen. You know, like the damn reindeer? Only,I don't use my last name all that much, on account I've been living on the streets of this stupid city since I was about 13.

I used to have a mom, and a dad. But they died shortly after I was born, and until I was 13, I was moving between foster families like the changing of the weather. Eventually I got sick of trying to put up with the constant changing, so I ran away, and found myself on the streets of the Big Apple. Most of my foster families couldn't handle me, hence my constant removal from their lives, and into new ones. The longest I've ever been in a home was I think....3 months?

But I don't mind. It's tough, surviving here, but I manage,I'm seventeen years old. I spend alot of my days working, working as a bus boy for a restaurant called The Big Apple Steak House, a.k.a Bask. With the small bit of cash I make weekly, I'm able to make enough to eat (barely) and I even have a really small apartment.

At the moment however, I'm not in my cozy little apartment, (that, by the way, lacks furniture, except for a mattress, a little table with two chairs, a really old puke green couch, and a tv that actually has cable, which I steal from my neighbor) but instead, I'm standing in about 3 feet of garbage, my arms elbow deep in the disgusting sludge. Yes people. You read that last part right. I'm standing in garbage.

I'm dumpster diving.

See, awhile back, I discovered that in dumpsters, theres always stuff in there that other people have given up hope on, that you can use to your full advantage. I got my tv and vcr that way. You know the saying? Another man's trash is another man's treasure? Sometimes it's true, but most of the time, it aint. Seriously, people throw out the sickest shit. But you know, sometimes I find necklaces, money, you name it, I've probably found it. I make a pretty okay living with that too.

Anyway, as I shuffle through the garbage, careful to duck down periodically when another person walks by, since usually some kid standing in a dumpster can sometimes turn a few of the wrong types of heads, and pick out a few fat black contractor bags. I rub the edge of it, to see if maybe something soft is inside, like clothing, and I discover that one of the bags is indeed filled with clothing, and I tear open the thin black plastic. I swear softly.

Girls clothes. Great.

Annoyed, I rummage through the bag until I find a black baggy wife beater, and dark green cargo pants that I could probably fit into, a couple of plain black skirts (don't friggin ask), and a pair of black and blue striped leg I find I can usually use to my advantage. Still a little pissed, I shove the clothes into my army green bag, and hop out of the dumpster.

These clothes were okay.

But maybe if it wasn't the middle of WINTER.

Heading back toward my apartment, I shoulder my backpack a little better and duck my head down to avoid the cold, pulling my black hoody up over my face to protect it from the chill blasting toward me. I yank my hair back, so the long dark brown strands are no longer falling into my face, which match my equally dark and brooding brown eyes, and shove my hands into my pockets, making the short trudge home. Some people tell me I should get my hair cut, but I like my hair this long. It suits me.

I'm not even five feet away from the dumpster when a hand on my shoulder startles me, and I look up and over, right into a pair of startling blue eyes.

"Oh. Its just you Holly." I say quietly, slowing down and coming to a stop so I can speak to her. Holly Banes is a girl I've known pretty much since I came to live by myself. Her family lives in the same apartment building as me, so we had met a few times, before becoming real friends. Her family has it even rougher than I do. Holly's father is an alcoholic, and spends most of his time beating on either her or her two older brothers, Jake and Oliver. Her mother died awhile back from some heart disease, and because of her death it had driven Holly's father to drink, and that in turn led to his angry drinking binges.

Holly, it turns out, was the reason I even had an apartment. When she had heard I needed help, she recommended me to her boss at the restaurant she works at, and I got my first job through her. After that, she talked to the landlord that owns the apartments, and I got an apartment right across the hall from Holly. Though sometimes I wish I could do more for her.

"Oh yeah, just me." She replied sarcastically. Her skin is pale, like mine. A look that seems to suit alot of New York natives. The poorer ones anyway. The ones who can't afford to get a 15 second tan from a UV machine.

"Sorry. I'm kinda out of it."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Long day?"

"You know it." I replied, itching the back of my head. Looking at Holly's hair always did that to me. Her do consisted of messy black and purple hair, hardly stirring even when large blasts of wind hit it. She liked using gel, and just looking at it made my head itch. She focused her gaze on my backpack then, and smiled knowingly.

"We were swimming again?" She asks, and I can't help but smile as well. 'Swimming' is what she refers to as dumpster diving. You know, swimming through garbage?

"Yeah."

"Find anything good?" Holly asks, and I nod, taking the bag off my shoulder and opening it up. I pull out a black skirt, and hand it to her.

"Sweet. Thanks Drew." She says happily.

"No problem. Not like I would wear it anyway." I say quietly, even though I have another black skirt in the bag still. What she doesn't know what hurt her, right? Holly smiles again and tucks the skirt into her black messanger bag, and waves as she starts walking off in the other direction.

"Well I have to get to work now. See you later Drew!" She calls, waving and disappearing behind the corner. Once she's gone, I turn around and duck into my building. My apartment's on the third floor, so I have to trudge up three flights up stairs. Pretty eghausting, when you've been running around the city all day. I yank out my key, which I have hanging around my neck by a simple white thread, and unlock my door and let myself in.

My apartments pretty depressing. Dark and shabby are pretty good words to describe it. The apartment is set up as one giant room. My bed is up in a loft above the kitchen, a ladder near one of the counters is how I get up there. The only real color in the room is huge monster of a puke green couch I have shoved in one corner of my livingroom.

As I threw down my backpack onto the counter I sigh heavily. I'm tired, and aching all over. Though I don't have any time to rest. I head for my bathroom, shutting the door and turning the water on. I don't have a shower head, so I have to take baths in order to get clean. Bit of a bother, when you have to be getting somewhere soon. I see my reflection in the mirror, but quickly look away, turning to the bath. I take off my nasty smelling t-shirt as I check the heat of the water with one hand, and run my fingers through my long brown hair with the other.

I take a quick bath, eat an even quicker meal (groaning when I see the fridge is getting dangerously low on food) and go and crawl into under my huge collection of blankets, and I fall asleep even before my head hits the pillow.

---

I'll have to say theres one thing in this cruddy world that I regret. and no, it's not running away from home in the first place. That, actually, is the smartest and best thing I've ever done. But really, the thing I regret the most would have to be when I joined Robin Hood's Boys.

See, Robin Hood's Boys aren't exactly....good people. Theres five of them in all. Not counting me anyway. They consider themselves a gang, but they don't have turf wars with other gangs, they don't spend alot of their time creating trouble for the establishment, nor do they really have...members. They're actually just a group of misfit boys trying to make it out in the world on their own, like me.

Like I said though, theres five in all. Chris, Mark, Mike, Steven, and Scott. All kinds of kids who came together in order to help each other grow and prosper in this continuously changing enviorment. At least, that's what Steve says. Steve is the youngest, 14, and yet he's the smartest out of all of them.

The ages of them vary from 14 to 20. Chris is the oldest, 20, and pretty much acts like the leader. He treats everyone allright, and he treats the younger boys like they were his own brothers.

The second oldest, Mike, is my age. 17. He's not as kind as Chris. If fact, he's crueler than cruel can get. He's the type of person you see running around with wigger thugs, and calling himself gangster. Which he does. Alot. His hobbies pretty much revolve around stealing and eating, or sleeping. The third oldest, Scott, is 15, soon to be 16. He doesn't talk much. He just takes orders from Mike, Chris, or me, whenever I visit, and does what he's told without question. Mike claims the kids retarded, since all he does is sit on the windowseat in the apartment the five guys share, and stare out the window longingly. We kinda don't know much about him, on account he doesn't speak. Then theres Mark. He's 14, and also Steve's twin brother. He, we've learned, is the slower one of the two twins. He puts his twin on a pedastle and acts like Steve's a god, which does nothing for the smartass' ego. and last but not least, brilliant Steve, who sits around watching tv and informing us all about how wrong we're leading our lives, when he does nothing but preach. Chris teases Steve that he should become a college professor if he's so fond of learning. But we can't of course, because of the fact most of us ran away from home.

Now, why don't I live with this charming group of strapping young lads? Well, for one, theres no more room in their apartment, and I'd rather not end up spooning with Mike all night. He doesn't get laid enough as it is. No need to drag my rear end into the situation. Not that he's gay or anything, nor am I a homophobe. I'm just saying, theres a lot of pent of sexual tension in that guy, and I'd rather not be around when he cracks....er...cums.

And second, I don't live with them anymore because I've been trying to ween myself away from those guys since I met Holly, and got a real job, and a real house (though you couldn't really consider it a home...). Though it hasn't really been working. Chris got me a cellphone a few months back, and I haven't been able to part from it. I think theres a part of me that still needs those weirdos. Even though they're evil stealing sons-of-bitches.

This is why they call themselves Robin Hood's know the story of Robin Hood. He was suppose to be this really cool theif who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Though, in THIS group, they only steal for themselves. And it's stupid shit too. Expensive shit. Rings, Necklaces, bracelets, precious artifacts Museums show...

RHB like to steal from Museums. They like the thrill I guess. I myself used to like it, but then I realized how evil and retarded it is, (though they only reason I kicked the habit was because I got caught during one of our raids, and ended up spending a few nights in jail...) and went straight.

However, every once in awhile, Chris or even Mike will call up, begging for some help on a raid, and I always get sucked in (Since I usually get 50 of the profits).

So anyway, to the point I'm trying to make here....

My phone rang at about midnight. Groggily I smacked the top of the little bedside table next to the mattress, searching for the buzzing annoyingly loud object, and pulled it toward my head. I snapped the little cover open and without even opening my eyes, I held the phone to my ear.

"Yo." I murmured, rubbing my eyes and attempting to wake up.

"Oh good, your awake!" Chris's cheerful voice replied, making me groan mentally.

"Well NOW I am."

"Well that's good too. Listen we need your help tonight."

"Aww come on Chris! I'm eghausted! I have to go to work tomorrow..." I moaned, trying to think of a good enough excuse. The conversations were always like this. Me whining, and then, him dropping the CHA-CHING bomb.

"20 percent Drewy." Chris said. I rolled my eyes.

"No way.I'm not sticking my neck out for 20 percent." I argued. There was a pause.

"30."

"60."

"40!"

"50."

"....allright fine. Fifty." Chris grumbled. I smiled into the phone and rolled up into a sitting position.

"So where's the gig?" I asked, running my hand through my hair, attempting to get the uncooperative choppy brown bits out of my eyes.

"New York City's Musuem of Art." Chris replied.

"Say WHAT?!"

---

One o'clock in the morning I meet the rest of the group outside the large brick building. Dressed in a black and light blue striped sweater, blue jeans, sneakers, and a black scarf I found on a previous dumpster dive. The guys were standing around on the street corner next to the building, Mike the only one in a t-shirt, (since he has to be fucking macho all the time...) and the rest in thick sweatshirts or sweaters, like me. I give Mike a dirty look as I walk closer. The only one who wasn't there was Chris.

"You guys are fucking insane, you know that right?" I muttered as I stepped into the little semi circle they had formed as I came toward them.

"Hey, we're payin' ya bitch. So shut ya mouth." Mike growled back. Mike had a buzz cut for a hair style. He looked like one of those army recruits, only with a huge gold hoop hanging from one ear, and huge bushy black eyebrows that made me wanna take a hedge cutter to them. Standing on either side of Mike were the twins, each with unruly black hair, and large blue eyes, though both they're eyebrows were always turned down into scowls, and their mouths were usually directed downward. Mark and Steve would definitely of been cuter if they just smiled a little more. Scott stood next to Steve, his platinum blonde hair and blank features made him look like he was glowing in the light of the streetlights, and he gazed at me with a steady gaze, a look which sometimes unnerved me. I nodded at each of the boys in greeting, then looked back at Mike.

"Chris inside already?"

"Yeah. Like always. He's been prepping." MIke replied, unable to disguise the sneer he had on his face. Mike and Chris were always fighting for power, even though Chris was older. I don't think the other boys really cared, but if Mike got his way, the group would be in much worse shape than what they were in at the moment. I nodded and looked at the building. This was the first time RHB had ever attempted a place this were loads of artwork and artifacts I was sure would probably keep us fed til of course, like any other place filled with highly priced works of art, there was sure to be a high security level in the building.

But that was what the whole thing funner.

Sidling over to the side entrance, me dragging along behind them, I realize that for the first time in awhile, Chris actual went with one of the lamest heists in the world. The old, imposter routine. Chris was dressed in a plain black and white security guards uniform. He smiled at the boys as they each filed past him into the building, and then nodded at me as I stepped inside.

It was warmer inside, but not by much. Most museums keep the place a little above freezing, on account they think heat will wreck the artwork. Okay, a LITTLE heat isn't going to melt paper. Okay? Artists are so weird sometimes....

Turning toward the table covered in little monitors, Steve immediately sat down and got to work. Steve was usually the ones who switched off the monitors, or the alarms, whatever we needed to be done technologically wise, we had him do it. He sat down at the computer and brought up a black screen, and immeidately started typing in little green code symbols, finishing the code with a flurrish and then hitting enter. Immediately all the screens went out.

"Allright, we have 10 minutes to get whatever we need and get the hell out of here. Avoid the side hallways, on account I didn't want to turn all the alarms off. Too much of a risk." Steve said. The other boys and me nodded, and we headed off in seperate directions to find the most expensive things we could find.

Wandering down one of the halls, passing paintings that had strange names, and looked expensive, but meant nothing to me. Nothing really caught my interest in this hallway. But obviously, everything caught interest in Mark's eyes. He was looking at everything like it was the biggest treasure he had ever seen, and practically drooled as he continued onwards after me. A little annoyed, I took the hallway going left, and he took the one going right.

The hall I entered was filled with expensive statues. There were old marble statues, statues that looked chipped and worn and had definitely past their prime, and statues that didn't even look like anything. Amused, I continued down the hall. I saw a hulking form in front of me, and realized it was Mike, kneeling over a statue of a naked woman, holding a rose delicately against her chest as she gazed longingly into the distance. Trust Mike to go after the stuff that looks like the first forms of pornography.

Still gazing around, I glanced at my watch. Six minutes to go. I decide on a plain marble statue, small enough for me to pick up, in the form of a large image of a hand holding a cross between its pointer finger and thumb. It was lame, but it looked expensive, considering the base of it was gold.

Mike glanced at me as I headed back down the way I had come, holding the statue of his naked sweetheart in his hands, and sneered at my choice.

"You picked that?" He asked. I turned the small statue over, revealing the gold base. He frowned at me and said nothing.

"Four minutes you guys!" We heard Steve call from the computer desk. Mike and me started toward the booth, saying nothing to one another as we walked. Then, almost like it had called to us, we past a smaller hallway, and turned our heads symaltaneously. At the end of this hall, resting on a marble pedastle, was a statue of a pure gold image. The image of an angel, its wings unfurled and spread out wide, its hands curled together over its chest. It had long flowing hair, and its eyes were closed, dressed in a long sleevless gown and barefooted. It was completely gold, and gleamed brightly in the light of the spotlight that continously glowed upon it.

Before I could say a word, Mike was stalking toward the statue. He had ditched his first one against the wall, and was going for this one like a hungry dog on meat.

"Mike! Wait!" I called. From past raids, I knew from experience that if there was a spotlight over the statue, then the alarms were still on. Horrified, I watched as Mike stalked haughtily toward the statue, and as his dirty fingers grazed the gleaming cold metal, a screaming siren began to screech overhead. Shocked, I dropped my statue in surprise, and it shattered all over the floor in front of me as I grabbed my ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Mike was running toward me, the gold statue under one arm.

"Go go go go go!" He chanted, shoving me hard. I glanced back at the shattered marble I had destroyed momentarily before running after Mike at full speed. The other boys were already ducking out the door and disappearing into the night like wisps of smoke, splitting up so the cops would have a harder time catching us.

Sprinting down the street, nearly skidding on the ice beneath my feet, I can hear sirens in the distance, besides the sounds of my heavy breathing as I scramble after Chris and Mike, who are running ahead of me. I was never a good runner (which I should of thought about when I went into this profession, eh?) and this was definitely not going to feel great in the morning. I managed to keep up, barely, and when they came to a suddenly halt, I nearly ran into the back of Chris.

"What...the...hell...were you THINKING?!" I shouted, grabbing Mike by the front of his shirt. I'm a few inches shorter than Mike, and not as muscular as he is, (in fact, im skin and bones) and shaking him hardly makes him stir. But it does get his attention. He glared down at me furiously, his lip curly into a snarl, and he grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back hard. Hard enough to hit the side one of the brick buildings we're standing beneath, and nearly smash my back hard into it. I groan in pain as slump against the wall for support as I lift myself up. Chris stepped in between us.

"Stop it! What's done is done. You got the gold statue then?" Chris asked. Mike nodded and held the statue up to show us. It gleamed brightly in the light of the streetlamp above us, and we stared at it in awe. I guessed from the looks of it that it was suppose to resemble a beautiful female angel, with long flowing hair, long lashes, and a set of hooters that would of made any guy hot. Even queers.

"Good then. This thing wasn't a waste then." Chris said. Chris and I nodded, and listened in silence as a police car suddenly went flying past. We sighed in unison with relief when it disappeared around the corner, heading for the museum.

"Hopefully, the others got out allright." Chris said. I nodded.

"They'll rat us out if they get caught!" Mike snapped. Chris looked at him.

"Every one of us agreed that if one of us got caught, they had to keep their mouths shut." Chris said.

"Well, that's never stopped them before!" Mike said, nodding at me. I scowled.

"I never ratted anybody out! It's not my fault you got caught chasing tail!"

"That prostitute looked realistic!"

"Well of course she did! She was a cop! She was in a disguise, and you were too drunk off your stupid wigger ASS to understand the difference!" I growled. Suddenly Mike was lashing out at me, fists raised.

Of course, with his fists raised, that meant he no longer had a grip on the statue. The gold angel fell with a loud crash onto the ground. At the same time that the statue hit the ground, a man suddenly came around the corner at the far end of the alley we were in.

"Freeze! Police!" The man shouted.

"RUN!" Chris shouted, and the three of us hauled ass toward the opposite end. The policeman swore to himself and started down the ally, following us. I was behind Chris and Mike by a few feet, and then it hit me.

We forgot the statue.

Spinning around, I ran in the direction the policeman was, startling the man into a halt, and even surprising Chris and Mike, who spun around and stared at me.

"Are you CRAZY?! Stop man!" Chris hollered at me. I ignored him and grabbed the right wing of the statue. As I did so, however, there was a cracking noise, and the end I was holding broke off. The wings had smashed off when Mike had dropped it. The policeman had regained himself by now, and also had a few of his friends in the alley with him.

"Freeze kid!" The head officer shouted. I ignored him as well and picked up the statue, wrapping my arms around it, and turning around and heading in the direction I had come. I rejoined Chris and Mike at the other end, and disappeared before the three officers even reached us.

---

I ducked as a heavy hardcover book (More than likely Steve's) was thrown at me, and I easily swerved to avoid being struck.

"MOTHER FUCKER! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD! YOUR A LUCKY BASTARD AND YOU DON'T DESERVE THE TITLE!" Mike was screaming at me. I settled back onto the couch next to Steve, giving the skinhead wanna-be a bored expression. The entire gang had shown up back at the hide-out (aka, the apartment Chris rented out), and were all lounging around, either watching tv or reading, like I was. Nobody seemed to care that only a few hours ago, the cops had been circling the neighborhood, searching for us. Too bad they couldn't find us, slippery bastards that we were.

"Then how about you stop calling me it then, eh?" I replied, moving my head slightly to the right as another heavy object was chucked at my head. Though Mike was yelling, nobody else was complaining. The gold statue was sitting on the counter like a trophy, gleaming brightly in the light. The angel almost looked like it was smiling, if you didn't look at it directly. I rearranged myself again, the magazine I had been reading on my knees, and went back to ignoring Mike, who had seemed to have finally shouted himself hoarse.

Chris and Mark were over by the statue then, examining it, checking for any faults.

"Hey guys?" Chris called, catching the attention of the rest of us.

"Yeah?" Steve asked, looking a little exasperated he had been interupted during a showing of 'Wild Kingdom.'

"I think this might be fake gold." Chris said. This made everyone stiffen.

"What? Why the hell would it be fake? It was on a fucking pedastle!" Mike growled, looking at the statue with something that resembled loathing. We all directed our attention to the angel again. Chris shrugged.

"Maybe the owner of this statue thinks very highly of it. Anyway, it might be fake because its not as heavy as something that would be made of real gold. In fact, I think its hollow." Chris said. He knocked on the side of the statue to demonstrate, and an empty hollow noise echoed back to us. Mike let out a scream of frustration.

"YOU MEAN WE FUCKING RISKED OUR NECKS FOR HOLLOW FAKE GOLD STATUE?!" Mike yelled. Chris sighed. He turned the angel around, pointing out the holes in the sides of the angel, where the wings had been torn off.

"See? Hollow. The thing wouldn't have broken so easily if it was made of pure gold." Chris said. Mark nodded.

"Yeah, and if you look at the outline of the fractures-"

"I DONT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT FRACTURES AND HOLLOW SHIT AND ANY OF THAT!" Mike roared. With a few quick strides, he grabbed the statue around its middle, and started toward the far end of the apartment. Steve and I were on our feet in a second, and Chris and Mark were right behind us. Scott just watched in his usual creepy silence from the window seat.

"No Mike, No! Don't wreck the statue! After we've worked so hard to retrieve it-" Chris started.

"SHUT UP! I'M the one who went after it in the first place, so I can do whatever I want to it!" Mike snarled. The rest of us stared at Mike helplessly as he stomped over to the little table near the front door, and placed the statue on adjusted the silver bowl of jolly ranchers that sat there, since most of us were addicted to them. The angel faced us with it's face still peacefully smooth, and looking down at its crossed hands. We all stared in horror as Mike retrieved a sledgehammer from the balcony, and came back with it thrown over one shoulder, looking madder than a bull. He stepped up to the statue and raised the hammer above his head, his arm muscles flexing slightly as he prepared to bring it down with a bang.

Suddenly, without thinking, I lunged forward and grabbed the statue, and in the process landed on the table, causing the thing to cave beneath my weight, and wrapped my arms around the gold as I stiffened, waiting for the impact of Mike's blow. But it never came.

Instead, there was a tremendous bang, and suddenly Mike was swearing. The other boys were shouting and moving away from where I lay, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why they were acting this way.

Then it hit me. I opened my eyes, and crouching in front of me, was a sight so magnificent I was sure I would choke on my tongue in surprise.

It was a little boy. A scrawny pale little boy, completely naked except for the jolly rancher bowl adorning his head, masking his face. It wasn't the little boy that amazed me either. It was what was coming out of its back. Tiny white wings. A stunned silence fell over us as the smoke cleared. It became clear that the little boy...

had somehow, come OUT of the statue. For the statue was gone now.

My arms, I realized, were still wrapped around the kids waist, so I pulled away with a jolt, and fell back onto my butt. The boy sat cross legged, and his head was still covered by the giant silver bowl. And then, slowly, he reached up and tilted the bowl edge back, and peeked out from under it. The boys eyes were a violent purple color, mixed with flecks of gold, and the softest looking lilac colored hair, pulled back into a ponytail with bangs falling into his eyes. He was small and had femine features, and as I stared, the others behind me their eyes almost as wide, he lifted the bowl completely off his head, and tossed it to the side.

Before I could react, with lightning speed, the boy wrapped his arms around my waist, and buried his face into my t-shirt as he squealed, resembling a high pitched whistle. And then, the little angel boy spoke.

"HAZEL HAS BEEN FREEEEEEED! HAZEL IS ETERNALY IN YOUR DEBT!"

Uh oh.