“It’s too cold outside when in your soul is raining”

“She’s definitely stupid,” mumbled Stan while trying to wrap his body tighter in the blanket. Outside the wind had started to fool around and it made the attic seem like a small boat caught in the rolling of the waves.

The whistling of the wind was louder and louder, and that had already started to bother Stan. He had been through such cold times before, but today was something different: the cold was cutting deeply from his flesh and the sleep was spinning around him, but it was obstinate about taking Stan into his arms and kissing him sweetly to immerse him into a different world.

Only in dreams, Stan could sleep in a warm room, having loving parents and three meals a day. What was more pitiful was the fact that the boy had started to forget about having a family and this was bringing sadness into his soul, from time to time.

Abandoned at the age of three on the church stairs, Stan was raised by the monks for about 5 years, but when the small abbey had been burned to the ground due to a fire and the one accused of setting the fire had been Stan, the boy decided that it’s time to move away. And that day he ran.

Nobody was looking after him, but the boy, sick of following someone else’s rules, thought, with his small head that staying in Stanton was similar to certain death, so he moved to the next village.

Stanway was so similar to Stanton. The same small, stone houses, the same architectural buildings, the same narrow streets, and the same dark-brown color all around. He didn’t like this village, especially after a big fight with other children due to lack of food, so one spring morning he went West, hidden in the back of a merchant’s carriage, till he got to Brighton.

Eight years had already passed since he established his dwelling in this town, but for Stan it was as if he came here only yesterday.

The dwelling was a big word for his disreputable attic, but it was better than that paperboard, off-hand house he made under a bridge when he came here. He lived under that bridge for about three years, till one day he had been the witness of a murder and then he decided that it was time to find something more sheltered.

He still remembers that night, when three tramps pounced on a poor passer-by, who had dared to pass under that bridge alone. Thinking that the man had some money or valuables at him, the three men attacked him, but after kicking him till death, they found out with amazement that he only had 5 pennies at him. Probably because of lack of money he decided to walk home on foot and not to rent a carriage and the road under the bridge was the shortest way heading to the poor neighborhoods of the town, but it was the worst decision he could take because even the vagabond cats never passed through there during the night after smelling the scent of death smelled from there every morning.

Only Stan saw that scene. His paperboard home wasn’t right under the bridge, but a little bit higher, heading the left pylon, more under the shelter of the bridge skeleton. He thought that this way would be safer for his little house in rainy times and he thought well. That night he went to bed early, because he didn’t find anything to calm down the hunger from his belly, and he thought that the better choice will be a good sleep with some dreams of a good meal next to a warm chimney, but about midnight, when the wind started to blow quite hard, he heard somebody yelling. At first, he thought that was a drunk that had forgotten where he was and now he was releasing his soul of all the problems he had insight into, but soon after something told him that it wasn’t like that.

While sitting on it, Stan listened for a while. Some deaf yelp was heard as if someone was having a good pain in his belly, that he was trying to calm down, but later the boy heard a laugh and it wasn’t only one man’s laugh. So, Stan decided to see what was happening. He sneaked out of his little house and, crawling on all fours, he approached the edge of the pylon, but the visibility was low and he could see only the back of someone who was kicking something.

“He probably caught a poor cat that he torments now,” thought the boy, and nodding, he was about to turn back to his bed when he heard a second voice talking to the first.

“Is he still breathing?” said the second man.

“I don’t think so,” answered the one to whom that question was addressed. “I think we crossed the line with him, man,” continued the second, and a loud cough was heard coming from his chest.

“Damn! He only has 5 pennies. Stupid rat and I spent my energy for nothing,” yelled the third one, and another hit was heard coming from under the bridge, but no answer or moans of the kicked one.

Stan covered his mouth with both palms to avoid a sound. Frightened and shuddering like hell with all his body, he crawled back, but to his misfortune, he hit a small rock that rolled down and hit the stone pylon making a muffled sound.

“Who’s there?” shouted one of the ruffians, but Stan didn’t stay to listen to the answer. He started to run with all his strength down the field and he didn’t stop until he entered the town. He heard the three running after him, but they couldn't catch him and Stan called it luck because he definitely had been lucky that night. If they would have found him, probably he would have been one of the victims then.

He spent that night at the shelter of a bakery door, but when the baker came in the morning to open his business and, seeing Stan, he didn’t even ask him about what had happened. He only kicked the boy's leg, chasing him away.

And Stan also didn’t stay to explain something to that idiot baker. He wanted to go to the police and to tell them about the events of last night, but he was afraid not to be the one accused at the end. And he just shut up and waited.

A few days later, he found out in amazement that the case was closed because of lack of evidence, but Stan was sure that nobody even bothered to try to find out something about what happened. Being a poor peasant, the dead one didn’t attract much social interest and of course, the police decided that it isn’t a good reason to waste some energy for a lost cause. One more poor guy died. So what? More food was left for others and they continued their daily routine of doing nothing while smoking cigars or greeting ladies on the streets.

And this was the last drop that filled Stan's soul, already full of hatred. He knew that he couldn’t trust anybody, so he decided to take care only of himself and because the winter had already been close, the 11 year-boy looked for a good shelter to pass the cold days, but in spite of him, all the good places were already busy.

After many days of searching, he finally found this abandoned building and declared it as being his property. Even if the roof was so down-and-out and the rain was pouring inside like outside, Stan had his corner where the rain couldn’t get and if using more clothes in the night it was quite warm.

Regarding the food, he found a solution for this too. Down the street was a small liquor store, with a lot of drunk men entering and exiting it and at least a few of them need for someone to make some diligence for them, so the boy agreed with Miss Almont, the owner of this local, to be him the one in charge of those diligences, without being paid of course, if she will feed him three times a day.

For Miss Almont, to feed a beggar with some remains gathered after the clients were like feeding a pig, so she agreed. But what was for Miss Almont charity, for Stan was festivity. He not only could feed himself every day, but while he was waiting for diligence he could stay in the local, of course without bothering the clients, and to gather warmth for the cold nights.

That day, when he met Beth on the street, was his day off. Yeah, it sounds weird, but beggars have also honor and Stan chose his day off on Mondays, when the “Red Pony” hadn’t so many clients and it wasn’t necessary to waste his precious time there, so the boy went for a walk, after having some lunch, because in his day off he was fed only once a day.

He arrived at that narrow street about twelve o'clock and he decided to listen to some music. There was always a poor musician who was playing at the corner of the street, ​but instead of the Musician’s Melody, he was forced to hear the cry of a strange girl.

But even if her weeping was so boring, Stan didn’t go away. He couldn’t explain why he stayed, but he did it and when in the end she stopped squealing he saw her eyes.

Because they had cried so much, the eyes were a bright red, but only the black of the eyes was playing around on the orbits like if a small mouse had seen the cat and freezing of fear, didn’t know where to run.

Why he grabbed her hand and ran with her he also couldn’t explain. The girl wasn’t too beautiful to say that because of this he helped her, not that he would have helped many beautiful girls in his life, but the matter is he was trapped in the end by her awkwardness and ignorance.

Stan nervously moved on his place and wide opened his eyes looking at the broken roof. “She is definitely out of her mind. How to leave your warm room in the middle of the winter, when the wind is blowing that cut your bones, and to start a dumb adventure of searching for somebody that abandoned you? You should be completely out of your mind to do this, especially when you don’t know how things work here,” but that girl, especially her eyes, told Stan that her story is more than just a simple madness. He never felt something like this before and he didn’t also know the real name of all this, but for the first time in his short life he felt that he should help somebody and he helped her.

He found out, just a few days ago, that Miss Almont is looking for someone to help her and because Stan knew how it feels to spend a cold night in the street, he didn’t want the same for her, so he presented that little mouse with the lady from the “Red Pony”.

“Red Pony”. Stan has always a dumb smile on his face when he remembers this name. That Miss Almont definitely never saw a pony if she thinks that red ponies exist, but he didn’t want to bring her back to reality and with that dumb smile on his face, the boy fell asleep, while the wind outside was dancing on the roofs, hitting the walls, whispering strange stories at the windows, checking the doors if they are well closed and where it found a small entrance, he snuck inside, because he was also curious to find how is to spend a warm night and then when it will leave the house next morning, it will definitely tell to Stan about its great adventure.