The apple was stolen right from under Castor’s nose. His hand was still gripped around an imaginary fruit when he saw the little girl at the other end of town. He scowled and stood up, racing down the street. Beggars and the impoverished mumbled at the massive form as he ran over the dirt road. It was a sudden flash of color midst the unchanging shambles of houses the citizens of the Gutters called home.
The little girl caught notice quickly. Castor tried turning odd corners to find her. Every time he hit the dead end, he heard laughter. He would turn around, look down all the rows of broken porches and garbage-filled alleys, to find that chocolate-eyed girl giggling like a mad man. The bright stripe of red was held in her hand. She hadn’t even taken a bite out of it.