The Diver by Quinn Schulte
It was about the middle of the night when the Diver came across the cold, hungry child lying in an alleyway the Diver would frequently visit. The child sloppily moved away from the Diver, too tired to offer a proper greeting for the encounter. The Diver noticed the childŐs poor disposition, and scurried off to find some food for the child to help them recover.
From the blurred lights and figures of one building to another, the Diver sniffed and bumped across them to find some food the child could eat. HeŐd dive into a dumpster, view the selection of food as best as he could, take a moment to have a nibble of it for himself, but couldnŐt find any food the child would find palatable, so his search for aid continued. Over and over heŐd dive to discover that divers had the better pick of the salvageable food much before the Diver had come across that location, and his snout had just about enough of traveling face-first into each street and avenue his night-accustomed eyes shouldŐve seen coming. By the time his nose had grown red and shriveled, the most kempt and intricate pool of food human nature could provide appeared before him. And at the top, practically waiting for the diver to finish his quest, lay a whole piece of pizza, still slightly warm with not a bite to its form. The Diver picked up the pizza by his mouth, and traced his way back by the colors and smells of the places he had passed by.
Just as the sun was beginning to rise once more did the diver find his way back to the boy, much more lifeless than when heŐd found him. Tired from the journey, the Diver lay the pizza in front of the childŐs face, and lay himself beside the child. As the Diver nodded off, the boyŐs eyes opened to find the pizza and the Diver before them. The child compulsively ate the pizza and gently draped himself next to the Diver before dozing off once more.
© Quinn Schulte