" A Boy named Carlo "

 

"A Boy Named Carlo"

Carlo sat on the cold, rusted rail by the train tracks, his small frame shivering despite the heat of the afternoon. His torn clothes barely clung to his body, his feet caked with dirt from wandering the streets. In his trembling hands, he clutched a plastic bag filled with solvent, pressing it against his nose. The fumes made his head light, made the hunger disappear—just for a little while.

He used to have a home. He used to have a mother who would run her fingers through his messy hair and a father who would lift him onto his shoulders, making him feel like he could touch the sky. But then, one day, his father left and never returned. His mother, overwhelmed and broken, fell into the hands of men who made promises they never kept. Soon, she too was gone.

Carlo was left alone.

The streets became his world. He learned to steal when he had to, beg when he could, and fight when necessary. But at night, when the city was quiet and the world seemed to forget about him, he curled into a ball under a broken streetlamp and whispered to the sky, "Mama, where are you?"

But the sky never answered.

Now, the solvent in his hands was his only escape. It took away the hunger, the sadness, the loneliness. It blurred the memories of warm arms that once held him, of laughter that used to echo through a tiny home.

He didn’t notice the train in the distance.

He didn’t hear the footsteps of strangers passing him by, their eyes full of pity but their hands empty of kindness.

Carlo was just another shadow in the city, another lost soul forgotten by the world.

And as the sun set, his small figure remained by the tracks, clinging to the only thing that numbed the pain—until even that wouldn’t be enough.

The fumes filled Carlo’s lungs, wrapping him in a false warmth, numbing the sharp pangs of hunger in his stomach. His vision blurred, the edges of the world melting into swirls of color and shadow. His small fingers loosened around the plastic bag, but the smell lingered, thick and heavy.

Then, he saw her.

A woman in a faded dress, standing just beyond the tracks, her arms open wide. Her face was soft, familiar—his mother.

"Mama?" Carlo whispered, blinking as tears welled in his tired eyes.

She was smiling, just like he remembered. Her voice, though distant, was calling his name. It had been so long since he had heard it spoken with love. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of confusion and longing.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his frail legs struggling to keep him steady. His mind swam in the haze, but the vision of his mother pulled him forward. She was waiting for him, just on the other side of the tracks.

The distant rumble of a train went unnoticed.

Carlo stepped onto the rails, reaching out. "Mama, wait…"

The wind rushed past him, a deafening roar. The world tilted. The blinding headlights cut through the evening fog.

A screech of metal.

A dull thud.

Silence.

The city kept moving. The people kept walking. The world did not stop for a street boy lost to the tracks.

By morning, a stray dog sniffed at the spot where he had been. A few people gathered, murmuring about the nameless child who had met an unfortunate end. But soon, even their whispers faded.

And Carlo?

He was finally in his mother’s arms, in a place where hunger, loneliness, and pain no longer existed.