Drool slid down the corner of his mouth. Boi sucked it back in and coughed. He was at the end of his rope. The aftereffects of days without food wracked at his stomach, eating him from the inside. A priest engrossed in his chipped nails stood next to a massive church.
It reminded Boi of cheese. He wandered over to the man and held out his hands.
"You food sir?"
The priest glanced up at boy, then back down. "Here, you work for your food, boy. I don't know where you're from," and here he gave Boi a paternal glance, "-but here, nothing is free." He paused, and sniffed. The wonderful scent of fresh-baked dough swelled and languished in the noonday sun, bringing tears of joy to the starving boy's eyes. The priest nodded sagely. "That, my boy, is the smell of my lunch. Now if you'll excuse me-" the man departed.
The drool was back with a vengeance. Boi staggered into the gigantic church, following his nose. Upon stumbling inside, he gasped. Stained glass windows filtered light in color-tinted waves, bathing the wooden pews. And atop a lone pew, like some Holy Thing awaiting Boi's arrival, balanced a perfectly sliced kiwi smeared with golden honey. A shame it wasn't his...
Boi inched forward. Just one bite. One tiny, itty-bitty kiwi-sized bite...
