|I'm just a fangirl with some pencils.|
Where do you live, Arry? The sound of sandpaper followed Arry everywhere that he went. Dragging his feet behind him as he walked home, he recognized that godforsaken sound again.Where do you live, Arry? by cassyme
He heard it all day at work, he heard it in his tired, dragging feet, he heard it in the sound of tires across pavement and chipmunks running across grass. It was forever present, forever torturing him.
Arry was only 10 years old, yet he was working an illegal and dangerous job. “Street rats” like himself don’t usually get all that much protection from the government, and they don’t ask for it. If you want to live, you work. If you want to live, you deal with the conditions of your job.
In all his 3,653 days of Arry’s life, there were none so important as this.
Arry just didn’t know it yet.
To him, everything looked the same. The cramped houses, the ov