His earliest memories were living off scraps of bread that had grown hard or moldy, and fruit that was overly sweet but mushy and slimy on the tongue, sometimes infested with insects that flock to the cloying scent of overly ripe fruit decaying. Whatever bits his parents and siblings didn’t want was what the boy got. His second earliest memory was the eyes of the soldier that had burst into their home. The youngest child who was little more than one of too many mouths to feed had been shoved toward the invader as parents and older siblings scattered and scrambled toward windows. The soldier’s gaze flicked toward the scrawny boy who had been shoved toward him and then to the rest of the child’s fleeing family. There was a brief flicker of pity and then the raider’s lip curled in disgust. The soldier kicked the boy aside, his head colliding with a wall. The screams that followed quickly grew dim as the child’s consciousness slipped away.
When he woke his ears were ringing and something heavy laid atop him. A metallic scent filled his sinuses as he clawed his way out from under the wet hefty object. The sound of screams was distant but the smell of fires burning was close. He looked around, registering that the heavy wet thing was what was left of his father. His father’s eyes and mouth gaped like the wound at his throat. The child shivered as he surveyed the wrecked remains of his home and family. The floor and walls were red, the crimson illuminated by the sunset streaming in through the windows. The boy curled up in the chaos and wept for the only family and life he had ever known, lacking though it may have been.
The next few years the boy would spend scraping by to survive, living off the generosity of handouts from strangers. Learning to differentiate genuine kindness from handouts that came with strings attached or dangerous consequences. There were no families willing to take him in, many had just enough resources to barely get by themselves, and those that did have wealth wanted nothing to do with a filthy street urchin.
Eventually, he would find other orphaned children, finding a place among them. Some had names but many like him had been orphaned before they could remember what they had been called, if their families had named them at all. Those that lacked names would make up their own. He learned the best places to beg for food, and how to distract adults while the older kids would pick pockets or nab goods from the stalls of vendors they’d managed to lure away. They would go out each day to collect as much as they could, careful to vary the spots they went to, and would regroup to pool what they’d managed to gather. He was quick to observe the strongest and boldest children would get first pick while the more timid and meek would be left to pick at the remainder. As time went on the boy, who the group had come to call Rat Meat for the fact he would even eat rats on the days when they came back empty-handed. He established himself as one of the strong ones, willing to fight for the first pick of their hauls.
As those that managed to survive life on the streets grew older some came to butt heads, fighting cropped up more and more until the group split. Rat Meat found himself part of a coalition with two other boys from the group, Scorpion and Hamza, who he got along with.
The three boys had made the abandoned ruins of a house toward the edge of the city their home. Begging and stealing what they needed to get by. It was the closest thing to family Rat Meat had ever known, the three becoming nearly inseparable. When they weren’t getting what they needed to live they’d spend their time talking of their dreams and aspirations or play fighting. Scorpion and Rat Meat in particular had grown close, developing a crush on each other as they grew into teens. On the nights Hamza fell asleep first, the pair would sometimes scramble up onto what remained of the flat roof of their home to look at the night sky. Sharing a blanket to keep off the evening chill as they sat side by side.
As they aged their pickpocketing got better and the teens got bolder with their targets. Stealing money, or valuables that they could later sell off. Though they kept a small collection of valuables they’d pilfered hidden away, in hopes of one day building a life that was more than just stealing to survive.
It was a day that seemed no different than the many they’d shared together. Rat Meat jogged along, the coins he’d managed to pickpocket that day clinking faintly with his movements. As he turned a corner something came flying at him that he was quick to catch, finding the thrown object he now held was a plum. A grin pulled onto his lips as his eyes met Scorpion’s.
“Nice catch. How was pickings today?” Scorpion asked, moving to fall into step beside Rat Meat.
“Pretty good. I got a decent bit of coin and some dried meat I managed to sneak from the butcher. Looks like you didn’t do too bad either.” Rat Meat nodded to the sack of plums the other teen carried as he bit into the fruit that’d been tossed to him.
“I sure did. We’ll be eating good tonight.” Scorpion smiled. “Let’s see if we can’t beat Hamza back and surprise him. Last one there gets the weird-looking plum I grabbed!” He declared and took off running.
“Prepare to eat a weird-looking plum then!” Rat Meat laughed as he gave chase, the two playfully shoving at the other to try to get the lead as they ran. They chased each other all the way back to their home, Scorpion ducking through the cloth they’d hung across the opening as he reached it just a couple of steps ahead of Rat Meat. The other teen was right behind, though as he ducked through after Scorpion he ran into the other boy who’d stopped abruptly.
“Hey, why’d you stop all of… a…” Rat Meat’s words trailed off as he saw exactly why Scorpion had come to a halt so abruptly. Staring back at them from the makeshift table they’d put together was Hamza’s severed head. Rat Meat took a step backward only to be shoved forward again as several men carrying clubs and swords barged in behind them.
“These must be the friends the little thief mentioned.” A voice chimed in as another man who’d been tucked around a corner out of sight said as he stepped into view. Scorpion and Rat Meat were herded to the center of the room, warily glancing around at the armed figure that hemmed them in.
“Should we kill them like the other one?” One of the men asked, looking to the first that had spoken.
“No, I think I have a better idea.” The other, presumably the leader, answered before staring down the two teens. “Your companion here tried to steal from me. While I ought to have you both join him, I’m feeling generous. One of you I’ll allow to live and work for me, the other will die. I’ll even allow you two to decide amongst yourselves.” The man said, unsheathing a small dagger and tossing it to the ground.
Rat Meat weighed his options, though as he contemplated their chances of fighting their way out Scorpion bent suddenly to snatch up the dagger and swung out at him with it. Rat Meat jumped back, the blade grazing his skin. He stared at Scorpion for a moment in shock, the betrayal etched on his face. The other teen stared back, a mix of terror and regret as he brandished the dagger.
“I-I’m sorry..” Scorpion stammered before lunging again. Rat Meat was prepared for the attack this time, channeling the hurt and anger he felt as he fought back, beginning to wrestle with the other teen for the blade. His ears filled with the rapid pounding of his heart and the jeering laughter of the men who watched them fight for their lives. He’d taken a couple of slashes but eventually Rat Meat managed to wrestle the blade free, and once he could get a hand around it he began to stab over and over. At some point, it registered that Scorpion had grown still. Still gasping from the struggle Rat Meat let the blade slip from his blood-slick fingers with a dull thunk. He stared at Scorpion, his heart ached from the betrayal and from the feelings he’d never been able to put words to, and now never would.
“That one’s quite the fighter. I thought the one that went for it first would come out on top but I suppose you can never tell. What’s your name, boy?” The leader asked, moving to collect the dropped dagger.
The teen slowly tore his gaze away from Scorpion to look at the man. For a moment the leader thought the boy might be foolish enough to attack and throw away his chance at survival.
“Rat Meat… my name is Rat Meat.” He said.
The man wrinkled his nose. “That’s hardly a name… we’ll have to pick out something better. At any rate, Rat Meat, you work for me now. Get up.” The leader commanded. “Gather up whatever valuables you and your little friends managed to squirrel away and then follow Kochar. He will lead you back and get you settled into your new job.” The leader said, nodding to one of the other men.
As Rat Meat obeyed the leader and the other armed men filtered out. The teen moved to the concealed hole where they stored what valuables they had, uncovering it and scooping out the contents. When he finished he stood up, taking one last regretful look at Hamza and Scorpion.
“Move it.” The man the leader had indicated was Kochar barked. Turning away from his companions’ remains, Rat Meat bowed his head and moved to follow.