"Mama!"
"Mama!"
"M-mama, wake-wake u-up!"
There Izuku sat beside his mama as blood poured from all directions of her body. He kept shaking her. Trying to wake her, save her if you will, from the cold grasp of death's hands.
"P-ple-please no-no more na-nap time!!"
But alas, what could he do? He was a mere 4 year old boy that at times could barely even speak right. What could he have done to protect his mama?
Sitting beside his mother, on their apartment floor that was riddled with glass, alcohol, blood, and grime. He grabbed her hand from the ground. Looking at it, It was much more different from usual. It looked more bony. More fragile. Just different from the usually warm, nice thick hands that protected him from the dangers of life.
Moving his small chubby hands to wrap around her hand. Providing her bony hand with tiny bits of warmth. But, in turn his cheeks were provided with coldness.
He sat and held her hand. He began to sob hard and fast. It was the only thing that he could do.
Before he came...
Gasp
Sitting up in his makeshift bed in the alley way. Hard breaths made their way out his mouth as his eyes darted around the alley. Cold sweat dripping down his brow. His right hand digging into his left wrist. Blood slightly dripping from the cresent shaped wound.
Taking a few seconds, he began to count down from 5. Closing his eyes as he started to let himself focus on the sounds and what he could feel.
There was his cat, Berry who was rubbing against his legs as she sensed his distress. The sounds of the neighborhood drunk Ralph, stumbling and mumbling with a bottle of liquor in hand presumably. The rumbling of another homeless as they dug through a dumpster looking for items of food and items.
Slowly letting out deep breaths as he released his wrist from his own iron grip. Shaking off the slightly bloody fingertips, absentmindedly wiping it off on his hoodie.
Seeing he most likely wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon, he began to start off his day.
Moving from off the graffiti filled brick walls. As the old abandoned brick building still stood tall. Moving from the stacked cardboard bed, pulling the ratty, tattered blankets from off it. Pulling them across his shoulders.
Being careful with his feet that were clad in his old and beaten up red shoes. The sole was practically falling off. Having the front of his heavily bandaged feet stick out.
On his left was his red wagon. It was hidden behind a dumter to keep it hidden from people. The exterior of it looked way different from how it looked when he was younger but it was still very much useful to him. Inside of it held his shoebox with held the various photographs. That were taken from the camera that hung from his neck.
Other than that it had some plastic bags on it and scrap metal.
Grabbing the jiggy handle from the cracked tar ground, he pulled moving it from its hiding stop. Stopping for a second to situate his cat, Berry on his shoulder.
Pulling out of the alley. He looked to see that it was pretty dark. Still a couple of hours till' the sun would set. Beginning his journey, he began his way over to Dagbaho beach.
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