⚡️-REWRITTEN ELECEED ALTERNATE UNIVERSE-⚡️

CHAPTER 14: MEMORIES OF HARDSHIPS AND TALES OF SNOWFLAKES.

Snow gently blew to and fro, gathering atop my own fur.

A rush of complacency and serenity overtook me like a gentle, enveloping hug, and the cold didn't seem as chilling anymore.

I exhaled, a puff of white frost making my breathing quite visible.

Trudging through the snow, I found a peaceful place to sit by the side of the house, tucked away in a corner by an evergreen bush and a satisfactory view.

Seeing the snow in Korea again reminded me of America, my home country.

A sense of longing tugged bittersweetly at my heart, and like the falling snowflakes, came the memories, shimmying down into the mind's view.

~

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO:

~

Wintertime was always hard for me.

Being an 7-year-old boy with no place to call my own in the depths of winter, through blizzards and snowstorms just added to my hardships.

I guess you could say that by then, I had already become an adult.

Fending for myself, fighting for acceptance, and doing the most grueling tasks all for the sake of money, food, and even shelter.

No normal man or employer would accept a child to work within their companies, no matter how minuscule the job might have been.

From a simple cashier or a bagging boy for a grocery store, there was never an option.

Asking to get a job at eight years old was like being publicly humiliated and shamed for something you didn't do.

The odd looks I received, the questions like "Where are your parents?" and "Why are you even here?" were like wounds.

Wounds I had to grin and bear through.

Several times I had to be taken to orphanages. Sometimes I'd have to be tied down just for the sake of getting a vicious child like myself under control.

Having been in an orphanage before and suffering hell, there was no way I was going to go back.

"I'd rather find my way around the world as a godforsaken child than be sent to one of those hell holes!"

I had spoken those exact words to a gruff, blue-eyed, and bushy-looking middle-aged man with tattoos on his forearms.

He had gripped my small wrists with his two fingers, effortlessly holding me up as I kicked and screamed.

With his other hand, he dialed a number, presumably an orphanage.

He spoke irritably into the phone, trying to talk over my screams and thrashing.

He stopped short, groaning in annoyance and slamming the phone on the table.

There he turned to me, "Look, Kid, I'm trying to help you here. You'll be much safer in an orphanage than roaming the streets of America."

He spoke sternly, clearly on the verge of snapping.

"You're wrong! I'd be much safer on the streets than in that wretched place!" I shrieked back.

Swiftly and not without struggle, I pulled myself up to where my mouth was level with his hands, and bit down.

Hard.

He shrieked, letting me go abruptly and recoiling his hand.

I fell to the floor, jumped back up to my feet, and made a B line for the door.