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Lying alone in the ap between two shacks, Scab rubbed at his bread-filled stoht pop He’d heard people say the last day of harvest was co up, which ht years since the death of his mother

As he scratched the dirt from his shirt, he wondered whether they’d still be alive if they hadn’t been whores Then they ot the disease

All he remembered about Peter was his bloody death Not any of the fun stuff or the tis Just blood But at least he re about his mother

He heard a faint crunch in the dry dirt

“Little boy,” a man whispered from the dark alleyway

Scab tried to shuffle further into the gap, but the ot for me?” The smell of his rotten breath filled the air

“Nuffin,” Scab said “I got nuffin”

Scab wriggled hard as the ed him into the alleyway

“You’ve got suive it me”

Spittle hit Scab’s face His chest tightened as he realised a Wretch had hi “Please, sir”

“Haha! I ain’t no sir” The Wretch patted Scab’s pockets and waist “You’re a skinny one, ain’t ya?”

As the Wretch squinted at the gap he’d dragged hiht as he could, then punched hiht him

The Wretch staggered back and coughed hard

Scab scrambled in the dirt, but a hard kick to the stomach collapsed hie