Date: Sun, 11 Dec 2005 00:27:33 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nathan Marks <nathan7new@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: James Chapters 1 & 2

New email address nathan7new@yahoo.co.uk

Please note that email addresses listed previously are no longer active
and I no longer use the groups mentioned there. My stories are now
archived at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nathansstories/.

This story contains material of a sexual nature and describes sexual acts
between adults and children. If you find this kind of material offensive,
if you are under the legal age to read such material or if it is illegal
in your country, please do not read any further.

My stories may contain some factual or autobiographical elements, but
they are works of fiction and any apparent similarities of my characters
to real people are not intended.

This story is protected by copyright. It may not be downloaded, copied,
printed or otherwise reproduced in any way other than for your private
enjoyment and may not be changed in any way without express written
consent of the author, me!

I hope you enjoy this story.


James: Chapter 1


James sat in the photo booth and cried. There was no way he was going
back. No one had asked him, considered how he felt. It was now dark outside
and when he opened his eyes he could see, below the curtain of the photo
booth, peoples shoes, jeans, trousers and skirts as they hurried by, either
on their way home or for a night out in the West End. He sat on the little
round stool with his legs pulled up, his arms wrapped around them and his
forehead pushed against his knees. He had tried to pull the rear curtain
that you pulled to change the colour of the background to your photo around
him, but tit was too short and too stiff to offer any warmth.

His eyes now firmly closed: he tried to block out the world. He had no
plan, no money, no family and no hope. The past two days had robbed him of
everything he had ever known or hoped for and life, as far as he could see,
was over. His father had died even before he was born. A fireman, he had
been trapped by a collapsing wall rescuing someone else's children. James'
grandparents had all also died long before he was born. His mother had been
orphaned when she was 17 years old. She met his father at university and as
soon as they had both qualified, they had married. She was a nurse and
worked three years until James was born. Then, with the insurance from her
husband's death, she was able to dedicate her life to James. They loved
each other. They were each other's world.

Three days ago she had collapsed in the supermarket. The ambulance came and
took them both to hospital, where James was made to wait alone in side room
while the doctors and nurses treated her. No one came to explain what was
happening. He sat for hours, alone and scared. His sand hair tussled where
he had grabbed it with his fisted while he cried, rocking slightly, and his
eyes red from tears and rubbing with the same fists. Finally, hours later,
a hospital Social working cam in and started asking a lot of questions
about him, his mother and if they had any family. No they had no one, just
each other. She wouldn't answer his questions, but arranged for some food
and a can of coke.

Another four hours later she came back in with another social worker. They
sat beside him and told him his mother had died. The doctors had tried for
eight hours to save his mother, but something inside her had burst and
there was nothing they could do. He wanted to see her, but they wouldn't
let him. He didn't really hear anything thing else, but after a few minutes
they took him out to a car and drove him somewhere to a children's
home. The showed him to a bedroom, laid out pyjamas for him and told him to
try and get some sleep.  He didn't sleep. He had curled up on the bed and
cried. He had never cried so much in his life. His mother had always been
there to pick him up, tend his cuts and cuddle him after a bad dream. For
twelve years she had made everything right. Now she was gone. He was
alone. He had never felt alone before.

The next day they had tried to get him to eat breakfast, meet the other
children or at least talk to one of the adult carers, but he didn't want to
do any of it. He wanted to go home, but they explained he couldn't because
there was no one there to care for him. He asked what would happen to him,
but they didn't know beyond the next few days here at the children's
home. A couple of the other children had opened his door and popped their
heads round to stare at him, the new boy whose mother had just died. Some
of them understood, others just laughed at a twelve year old sitting on his
bed crying. He ate nothing, did nothing and just felt so alone. However,
one thing he did know, he did not want to stay here. He wanted to go home,
so he opened the window, climbed out and ran as fast as he could until he
could see the children's home no more.


James: Chapter 2

There was no way he was going back. No one had asked him, considered how he
felt. They had just dumped him in the children's home. He ran and ran. He
didn't even know which direction he was heading; it was just away from the
children's home. Soon the residential buildings gave way to a parade of
shops and larger streets. He turned a corner and seemed to be on a main
road. He wandered for hours until he eventually found himself in a large
open square. He had been here before with his mother. This was Trafalgar
Square. He recognised the big bronze lions, the fountains and the stone
column with a statue of... he tried to remember who it was: it was Nelson,
Lord Nelson and it was called Nelson's column.  He sat on a step beside a
lion. It was huge. He wasn't small, but he felt small, and alone, despite
all the people rushing around. At the corner of the square two policemen
crossed the busy road onto the central paved area. He watched them as they
drew closer. He was afraid they would want to know what he was doing here,
alone, but they walked right by him without even looking at him. He
breathed again. What was he going to do? He had no idea. He sat watching
people going by, couples, people alone and children with their parents.
Everyone had somewhere to go, someone to see. He could feel the tears
welling up again so he covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.

It was starting to get dark now and it was spitting with the first drops of
rain. People were rushing by, going out for the night. He stood up and
walked all the way around the square, eventually crossing to Charring Cross
Station. The wet pavement was like a mirror reflecting the seven-story
station building. Well, seven stories above ground, he remembered, because
it went underground down to the Underground Tube station. He wandered down
into the Tube station. It was dry and a bit warmer that in the square, but
soon a Guard approached him and asked what he was doing, so he ran out,
back up into The Strand.

He walked for what seemed like hours and eventually found himself back
outside Charring Cross Station. He saw a road down the left hand side and a
few steps down there was a photo booth, the same booth his mother had
dragged him into about a year ago to take their photo. As he climbed in and
sat on the stool, he remembered her arms around him, warm and comforting,
her fingers finding their way into his armpit to tickle him so that all the
photos showed him laughing and wriggling in her arms. He smiled as he
remembered cutting the strip up to put the photos into their album. That
was at home. His home. That was where he should be now, not here in the
centre of London, not in a children's home, but at his own home where he
could look at the photos and lie on his mums bed and smell on the
pillows. He bought her perfume for her birthday, but he couldn't remember
the smell and made himself even more upset thinking that he was already
forgetting her. He would not forget her, ever!

James sat in the photo booth and cried. He sat on the little round stool
with his legs pulled up, his arms wrapped around them and his forehead
pushed against his knees. His eyes now firmly closed: he tried to block out
the world and just remember her. Even the image in his mind seemed
faded. He felt like he was betraying her, loosing her again. A draught came
in under the half curtain and caused him to twist suddenly as the cold air
made him shudder. As he twisted he lost his balance and fell side ways off
the stool and through the curtain onto the wet stone slabs of the pavement,
almost knocking over a man who was just walking past.

MORE TO COME...