In Our Eyes

"There weren't always Dragons in the Valley."

Gramps had sounded so confident when he said it that I didn't even question. Dragons, the winged reptiles that hoard treasure and keep princess’s captive in towers. I was ready to hear a story about Dragons.

"They come and go, but one thing is always the same," He continued, "People go missing when the Dragons come back."

I paused then, because even at eleven years old, that didn't sound like a typical fairytale. I looked up from the fire roaring in the metal barrel, alighting the sodden brick buildings around us, and saw Gramps was still staring into the dancing flames.

"What do you mean?"

"You know dragons, the beasts that can find even the smallest treasure? Well, some people are Dragons. They have the uncanny ability to spot something rare and special. Of course, not everyone knows they are rare and special, but once you're on a Dragons radar, well...I don't want to scare you anymore, kid."

It was too late. My heart had kicked up pace as I watched Gramps' unblinking grey eyes. Though he wasn't looking at me, his sight burned, and small gooseflesh erupted across my arms.

"Tell me, please. I'm not scared." My voice even held steady.

The side of his lips curled up at that and he said, "I already told you, kid. You disappear."

My heart dropped to my toes.

"But...how do you know if a Dragon finds you?"

Gramps sat still and silent for a moment...a long moment. He only blinked a few times and his eyes never shifted, almost as if he was watching a movie in his head.

"You'll probably never see a Dragon. They're good at keeping low. But you may see a pattern. The same car wherever you go or the same strange but familiar people popping up."

He looked up at me then and I didn't even blink. Couldn't blink. He caught my green eyes like a starving mouse in a trap.

"Mind me, Auna. Be vigilant, be aware, and try to keep your head down. People don't look twice at a street rat."

***

That stuck with me. Even 14 years later, I can recall this with astounding clarity. The windless, moonless night; the rumble of cars as they passed by; how withered Gramps looked then, when calling him "Gramps" was more of a joke than anything.

If I stay too long in my sleeping bag, staring at the charred holes in a metal barrel, reliving old memories, I may not want to get up at all. Especially when the sun is sluggish to rise on these winter mornings. But my internal clock knows, it's got to be close to breakfast time.

On most weekdays the homeless shelter a few blocks down was well-funded enough to serve breakfast and dinner. The weekends held the special treat of all three meals; it gave the Valley's dumpsters a chance to refill with goodies to pick through.

The Valley. Hah! A grand name for the slums living in the shadows of infinitely tall corporate buildings. Whatever slivers of sunlight manage to sneak through never last more than twenty minutes at a time, keeping the temperature cool and the vegetation dead.

But the corporate shmucks have the best dumpsters to scavenge, I'll give them that. Whether they like it or not.

A soft bell tinkled as I made my way inside of Heaven's Hope. This shelter may have been a small school at one point; the round tables and plastic, staticky chairs brought up a distant, but vibrant memory of lunches and laughter among my peers.

The image was gone in seconds as I saddled up to the buffet. One glance and I realized I was early. There was no steaming food in the hot spots and the lone staff member up front was young, sweet Mary.

She's been smiling at me since I walked in, a bright white smile from years of diligent care.

"Hello Auna," she said. She's new to the shelter staff but has made it her life's mission to learn everyone's name, and not just the regulars.

According to Gramps, she hasn't had much of a chance to become jaded yet.

"Morning Mary."

She looked me over, her lips curled down in what I think is concern.

"Aren't you cold? It's nippy today and it's only going to get worse."

I shrugged. I've never really noticed when the seasons change, except that the days grow shorter when it's supposed to be colder. One of the lucky ones, others have called me.

Lucky to survive the winters with all my toes despite the crumbling tennis shoes. Lucky to manage the hot summer months without blistering skin and parched lips. Lucky to live so long as a street rat but still clean and kept enough for a job interview.

Resilient. That's what Gramps calls me. Not one of the "lucky ones".

"My nice hoodie is being mended, but I think I'll be okay for today," I lied. Like I have a nice hoodie. All I managed to find this season was a crusty old windbreaker that I patched up with some discarded neon duct tape for Gramps.

Hideous, yes. Practical, absolutely.

"Are you sure? We've got some jackets if-"

"Oh no, Mary, I promise I'll be fine. I'll survive. Save the jackets for someone who really needs it."

Mary wasn't appeased, her downturned lips a dead giveaway, but she didn't push. She's a good one like that.

"Well, if you say so...Let me see if there's any food ready and I'll grab you a tray."

"I would appreciate that. Thank you."

She disappeared in the back. The clock on the wall read seven; the shelter's kitchen didn't open till eight. She'd be awesome if she could rustle up some grub early enough for me to be gone before anyone else arrives.

"Here you go!" She sang as she emerged from the swinging double doors, a steaming bowl and small plate on a red plastic tray. Oatmeal and toast. Nothing to write home over but nothing really is to me.

I offered a small smile.

"Thanks Mary, you're a peach." I turned to walk to my usual table when her sudden gasp stopped me.

"Oh, Auna, I meant to ask. You were here for dinner last Monday. I've heard that just about everyone got food poisoning from it. How's your stomach been?"

I gave a half-hearted chuckle. Monday's dinner had the slight tang of rotten, overcooked meat but that's not enough to keep me from finishing a meal.

"Fine," I said. "I've been dumpster diving since I was nine. It'll take a lot more than spoiled food to turn my stomach."

She smiled softly, but her dipped brows made the look feel sad.

"I'm glad to hear you didn't get sick. Makes me feel a little better. Well, enjoy your meal."

"Thank you."

Gramps taught me that good manners don't cost a thing.

My usual table was tucked by a corner with the exits in sight and enough privacy to appease Gramps' paranoia. One doesn't spend most of their days on the street without getting a healthy dose of suspicion and looking over the shoulder.

The oatmeal could best be described as bland and sludgy. Oh wait, there's that subtle tang of something gone bad. I dug through a bit, found some congealed spots of white, and my suspicions were confirmed.

Curdled milk.

The taste wasn't bad, and I can't really smell anything anyway, so getting the oatmeal down wasn't an issue. The texture was the hardest bit to get around, but food is food.

I did manage to finish before the place opened, catching Mary on my way to drop off the tray.

"Hey, I think the milk or something was spoiled in the oatmeal."

Her dark brown eyes went impossibly wide.

"No! Are you sure? Can I check your bowl? I'll bring you something fresh out," she said, opening her hands to accept the tray.

"I mean..." I pushed it her way, showing nothing but empty dishes with some leftover slime that I couldn't wrangle onto my spoon.

In all my twenty-five years, I've never seen someone's jaw drop so hard. She snatched the bowl up, staring in absolute disbelief.

"Auna! You should have said something! If you thought the food was rotten..."

"I told you, it'll take more than that to get me sick. I'm not going to miss a meal just because some milk has curdled." I turned away, ready to leave so she couldn't keep staring at me with that disgusted, awed face. "I'll see you later Mary. Have a good one."

The street wasn't too busy this time of the day. The corporate drones were already in their hives with their fancy cars in the parking garage. Only my fellow street rats were out, heading toward the shelter.

I turned the corner, one block from my alley, and saw something that did turn my stomach.

"There you are, Absinthe Eyes."

Butch, the discount Hitter, stood at 6 foot 5 and built like a train. He ran in a pack with two other Hitters, but they looked like imposters next to him.

For seven years they've been harassing us homeless people; ever since those towers rose up and the fancy working class came around. We've been pushed back farther into the slums of the Valley, and any resistance is met with a fist.

I just don't have the energy to deal with his shit today, no matter what it costs me.

"Fuck off Butch."

One of his goons cracked a knuckle, like that's supposed to scare me, but Butch held up his hands.

"I ain't here to fight. I'm here to offer my services."

One of my eyebrows jumped up in disbelief of its own accord.

"Come again?"

He snickered; an ugly half-snarl that made him look menacing.

"Word on the street is someone not very nice is looking for a young lady with bright green eyes and dark hair. Thought of you immediately, Absinthe Eyes."

Saul.

That sleazy, wannabe gangster. He caught me loitering around the dumpster outside his bar and, when I rejected his oh-so-subtle advance, he threw a fit. But for him to make a big enough fuss that Butch caught wind.

I shook my head and continued on the path home, pushing past the three Hitters.

"No, I'm good. I can handle it."

A hand on my arm jerked me to a stop. If I could claw Butch's bottle brown eyes out right now, I would.

"Listen to me, Abs. I like you. You're stronger than half the trash in these streets. But I really don't think you can handle this one."

I snatched my arm from his grip, frowning hard at the sincerity on his face.

"Watch me."

He didn't stop me again as I walked toward the sanctity of my dead-end, dirt road alley.

The Valley has a few unspoken rules. One being, don't jack my spot.

The alley nestled between an abandoned apartment complex and an old canning building has been mine and Gramps' spot since I first got tossed to the streets. Other people have come and gone through, but our place hasn't changed.

And people know how protective of our place we can be. Butch has met the mean end of a gold club once or twice when he thought he could "persuade" us to move.

So imagine my surprise when I turn into my alley and see at least five people rummaging through my things.

"HEY!-" Again, I was jerked away. I spun on a heel with fists clenched to give Butch a physical piece of my mind, but froze. "Gramps?! Where have you been?"

He had an iron hold on me as he dragged me down the street, his head on a constant swivel. Jumpier than usual.

"You've got to run, Auna. It's not safe here anymore."

I rolled my eyes, pulling at my wrist in hopes he'd let go. His grip only tightened.

"Don't worry Gramps, Saul is just mad that-"

He ground to a halt so suddenly I smashed into him. He turned to me, his dull grey eyes wilder than I've ever seen.

"It's not Saul, kid. It's the Dragons." My heart clenched in my chest. "They're back and, dammit kid, I think they've found you. You've gotta get out of the city."

He went back to pulling me, but I kept pace with him this time until he was able to drop my wrist. We were already a block and a half away from our alley.

Despite a thousand questions pouring through my head, I needed to sort through the most important. Now wasn't the time to disregard his paranoia, not after Butch, and not after seeing those strangers in my home.

"Where are we going?"

"Train yard. Hide in a freight and be in a new place in a few hours."

"Why are the Dragons after me?"

He gave me a quick side glance. "I've told you before. You're Resilient."

"I don't know what that means."

Gramps stopped, eyes burning ahead of us. Three men had rounded the corner, not Butch and his goons. These men were in all black from their shoes to the thick belts around their waste; utility belts, with several shiny items posed at the ready.

They were heading our way casually, but Gramps turned us around and urged me away. Until a spotless black Cadillac with tinted windows pulled up to the end of the street and three more men poured out.

"Run Auna."

Gramps had never sounded so serious. My legs almost obeyed on the spot, but I couldn't leave him. Not to these thugs.

Two of the men reached to their belts, pulling at something holstered in. Gramps dug into his pocket and brought out Trusty, his worn old spring-loaded knife.

"Go."

This time, I didn't think twice.

There's another alley across the street with a dumpster close to a thick, jutting window ledge. Easy enough to climb up onto the roof of the two-story building. It might give me a head start. Because in my gut I knew, once I start running, I might not have the chance to stop.

I ran.