Night has arrived with a sudden chill, and they’ve been debating whether or not to start a fire for the last fifteen minutes. Peter, the eldest, thinks it’s a bad move… it’ll attract a bad element.

 

His instinct is right but the littlest of the bunch, Morrow, has been putting on a maudlin show grinding her teeth. She has slowly begun to win him over along with her sister Miriam, who looks only slightly younger than Peter though she is nearing him in height, as she argues vociferously that warmth is indeed a necessity of survival.

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The other boy, Sydney, the second youngest but biggest of all with a broad barrel chest, has been sitting still with his knees tucked up to his chest, waiting patiently for the argument to fold into his favor. He dares not speak out though, going against his brother. Somewhere, he picked up one of those dinky Merrymouse caps with a Technicolor propeller on top. It has been churning slowly for the last few minutes, his lips flapping a bit like a fish when the blustery winds blow.

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I watch them through the greased black now, studying their features through my scope.

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Where others would see only smudges I see fine details. They are thusly…

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-Morrow has pigtails and two dimples punched into her cheeks framing a smile she has no business wearing in this ungodly place. She is carefree, happy, and will be the surefire death of the others because they would all die on the spot to protect her. Sometimes she sings to herself. She has been picking up rocks and other small, interesting pieces of trash all around the park and stealing them into her pockets when no one else is looking.

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-Sydney has a bloated face, is naturally muscular and shuffles his feet whenever he walks. He seems disenthralled by every other thing that’s happening, stutters sometimes when nervous, and has a habit of making piquant odd faces like a dinosaur whenever things get boring.

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-Miriam has tresses like a waterfall on fire and sadness lives in her eyes, but she hides it well from the others, especially the little one who is constantly looking up to her or reaching out to snag her hand, which she does all the time. She is always there to take it.

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-Finally, Peter the leader is no-nonsense with a grim symmetrical face. His hair always seems perfectly combed but his teeth never show. He is both the oldest and the youngest—perpetual panic dancing behind his eyelids, though he is quick to cool. He knows he must or else the others will see through him. He is the only one who really understands just how scared they should be.

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In spite of this fact, he finally buckles. When he breaks down and finally builds a fire, I am disappointed in the part of him that knows he should know better.

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Pop! go spastic embers as I slide Mausenstein back over my shoulders.