This story is referenced in Family Ties by Angela M Obrien. It is talked about by Bridgette and is written by Beatrice Morrisey. Yes, it's weird. it's supposed to be.
Beggar in the alley by Beatrice Morrisey
Written by Angela M OBrien
It was a cold night in winter, he had no bed to sleep. He was, but a small boy, when his mother gave him to the street.
Since he was nine, he was forced to live, a beggars life. Rummaging through the trash for a meal, how can that be right?
No love, was felt for this boy. No love, was felt from this boy. His heart was incased, in a bulletproof safe. Never touched by another living soul.
Beggar in the alley by Beatrice Morrisey
Written by Angela M OBrien
It was a cold night in winter, he had no bed to sleep. He was, but a small boy, when his mother gave him to the street.
Since he was nine, he was forced to live, a beggars life. Rummaging through the trash for a meal, how can that be right?
No love, was felt for this boy. No love, was felt from this boy. His heart was incased, in a bulletproof safe. Never touched by another living soul.
He curled into the dumper, closing the lid, to keep out the cold. People stared, people swore. Cannot believe the life of this young boy.
Them in thier warm coats, on thier journey to a place they call thier own. To this young beggar boy, the alley was his neighbourhood, the dumpster was home.
He did what he had to do, just to make ends meet. He begged for days before, someone would give him a dollar, to simply by something to eat.
He scared little children, into dropping thier ice creams, he would scoop them up with a smile. Suddenly he had desert, to go with his mud pie.
Summer days, he ate like a king. Winter nights, he would starve for weeks, before finding something yummy, for his belly to take in.
He could never find words, his voice long lost to the hazards of beggar life. But how can one be a begger, without the words to bed. He was a boy, barely fifteen. He was but a small child.
The starlet met the beggar, one cold winters night. She was a runaway, trying to hid. To escape the glitz and glamour, of high society life.
She didn't know what awaited her, in that dark alley, as she walked into his nest, to the house that he kept, the home that he slept.
She opened the lid, opened the door to his home, a loud filling the night sky, yet heard by none.
He stared at her, the fascinating being that she was, a low growl bellowed from his belly, he had to know more.
He felt a hunger for her, a desire, to what she felt like. If he didn't find out, his hunger would never subside.
He had this hunger often, but never was it quenched. He never understood so, he just stayed away. Away from all living things, unless it was to beg.
She held out a hand, offered him her help. He turned her away, shied into himself. He felt a warm rush as he took her by the hand, stepped out of his house and onto the land.
She looked at him with pity, in her deep blue, ocean eyes. Full lips showed sadness, for his disease of a life.
Her eyes, her lips, were not his desire. It was just below her lips, above her plentiful breast. Covered in sparkling jewels, he desired her neck.
He took a step towards her, she took a step back. He put a hand around her waist, and a kiss upon her lips.
Bile rose in her throat, he could taste her disgust. He dragged her into the shadows of night. The darkness still unknown.
He took he by the hand, and though she didn.t quite understand, she still found herself, following the foot of the young man.
If only she had know, what would become of her, she never would have went, to the alley of the beggar.
He pinned her to the wall, one hand on her throat. He swept her golden hair to one side of her face as he watched her start to choke.
The pulse, the heartbeat, the fear, spoke to him in volumes. He could feel her heart, as if it were, his own.
He raised his head and smiled at the moon, he lowered down and pierced her skin, her life fading away. This was the night, the beggar would find, a mate, so true.
He stopped himself, before death came, fed his blood to her. He could help it, he had to take her. Had to make her, a wolf.
Them in thier warm coats, on thier journey to a place they call thier own. To this young beggar boy, the alley was his neighbourhood, the dumpster was home.
He did what he had to do, just to make ends meet. He begged for days before, someone would give him a dollar, to simply by something to eat.
He scared little children, into dropping thier ice creams, he would scoop them up with a smile. Suddenly he had desert, to go with his mud pie.
Summer days, he ate like a king. Winter nights, he would starve for weeks, before finding something yummy, for his belly to take in.
He could never find words, his voice long lost to the hazards of beggar life. But how can one be a begger, without the words to bed. He was a boy, barely fifteen. He was but a small child.
The starlet met the beggar, one cold winters night. She was a runaway, trying to hid. To escape the glitz and glamour, of high society life.
She didn't know what awaited her, in that dark alley, as she walked into his nest, to the house that he kept, the home that he slept.
She opened the lid, opened the door to his home, a loud filling the night sky, yet heard by none.
He stared at her, the fascinating being that she was, a low growl bellowed from his belly, he had to know more.
He felt a hunger for her, a desire, to what she felt like. If he didn't find out, his hunger would never subside.
He had this hunger often, but never was it quenched. He never understood so, he just stayed away. Away from all living things, unless it was to beg.
She held out a hand, offered him her help. He turned her away, shied into himself. He felt a warm rush as he took her by the hand, stepped out of his house and onto the land.
She looked at him with pity, in her deep blue, ocean eyes. Full lips showed sadness, for his disease of a life.
Her eyes, her lips, were not his desire. It was just below her lips, above her plentiful breast. Covered in sparkling jewels, he desired her neck.
He took a step towards her, she took a step back. He put a hand around her waist, and a kiss upon her lips.
Bile rose in her throat, he could taste her disgust. He dragged her into the shadows of night. The darkness still unknown.
He took he by the hand, and though she didn.t quite understand, she still found herself, following the foot of the young man.
If only she had know, what would become of her, she never would have went, to the alley of the beggar.
He pinned her to the wall, one hand on her throat. He swept her golden hair to one side of her face as he watched her start to choke.
The pulse, the heartbeat, the fear, spoke to him in volumes. He could feel her heart, as if it were, his own.
He raised his head and smiled at the moon, he lowered down and pierced her skin, her life fading away. This was the night, the beggar would find, a mate, so true.
He stopped himself, before death came, fed his blood to her. He could help it, he had to take her. Had to make her, a wolf.