"If this kid isn't yours, then why are you leaving him here?" Mr. Goldsmith asked. The woman in front of him was holding a bundle of blankets.

"There was a robbery in his house. Both parents were murdered. No one knows if there are any other family members to take him in," the woman said.

"How would you know?"

"I was their neighbor. I heard a gun go off and went over to see what happened. Please, sir, just take the child. He's small and weak. I can't afford to feed him."

"Fine I'll take it," Mr. Goldsmith said, taking the bundle from the woman. "Does he have a name?"

"Yes, it's Seymour. Seymour Krelborn," she said as she left. The woman, named Rene Roux, turned back and sighed. She felt bad for the child, losing his parents so early in life. Then she remembered the way the couple had treated their newborn. Ms. Roux would wake in the middle of the night to hear the baby crying, only to be greeted by the sound of his mother or father screaming at him to shut up. Young Seymour was only a week old. It's for the best. She thought to herself. Then she walked away.

Mr. Goldsmith went to the room where the babies and toddlers slept and dumped the baby into a crib. The lady was right; the kid was small and weak. At least he doesn't cry much. He thought. He was thin and pail. He would probably grow up to be just a skinny. The director of Skid Row's Home for Boys left the room, leaving a sleeping baby Seymour.

****This is my first fanfiction, so it's not going to be too good. :) hope you at least semi enjoyed it :D