Bags packed, Max and I walk quietly down the shaft in our darkest clothing, not daring to make even the smallest of noises. We've waited till night to leave, spending the day packing our bags with everything that might be needed, from food to blankets to pins to lengths of thread.

We reach the vent grate, and I peer through it, eyes squinting shut to counter the bright lights I see. Hearing loud, throaty laughter, I sigh, scootching backwards into the shadows. Glancing back at Max, I shake my head miserably.

"They're up."

Letting out a tiny whimper, he sinks down on his knees, clutching his tattered blanket our mom had made him. It's one of the few things we have left of our parents, and I wish I could've given him the same love and care our parents did for me.

"H-hey, buddy, it's okay! We'll work something out, you'll see!"

He nods, but I see tears surface in his chocolate brown eyes. Sniffling, he walks over and asks for a hug. Then I get a brilliant idea.

"Hey, people means food, right?!"

He nods.

"That means we can get something to eat! C'mon, it'll be fun."

The thing is, you have to distract them. Example: Mention food to pull attention from sad memories.

Giving me a shaky smile, he stands up, and we start walking to the kitchen vent. Our feet pad softly on the cool metal floor of the duct, and I hear the telltale whoosh of the AC kicking in. Lunging for a screw hanging from the wall, I grab Max by the back of his shirt and hold onto both for dear life. The gust of air howls through the duct, lifting both of our light, tiny frames up.

After what seems like hours but is probably only minutes, the AC turns off and we fall to the ground, panting and gasping for breath. My fingers are rubbed raw on my right hand from the sharp edges of the pointy metal, and on my left, stiff from clenching Max's shirt.

However, he giggles, smiling brightly. It's a childlike smile, full of joy and simplicity for that one brief second. Both of our childhoods were torn away from us a long time ago, so it's rare to see such an expression on his face.

"That was fun! Almost like... flying."

His face falls, he's probably remembering what flying things like owls have done. Example: Carrying off our mother.

We begin to walk again, this time in the direction of the kitchen.

When we get to the vent, I peep out, it's dark. Then I see something beautiful on the counter~Ramen.