The Original Dispossessed - Fictional Short

My buddy Lawrence Spann leads writing workshops and once every few months I am lucky enough to attend one. We did one recently with a random assortment of sundry items on the table with the idea being to pick one and let our imaginations spark with it for five or so minutes. This was my short:

"The Original Dispossessed"

Smiley ran down the subterranean pathway, his favorite headlamp strapped across the top of his loose brown mop of hair. His real name was not Smiley of course, it was Trolley A. Finch the Third. His parents had named him after two mythical creatures from a forgotten age, when the surface of the Earth was safe to walk. It was the other kids who had named him Smiley on account of his habit of grinning at the slightest hint of mischief, and in many ways the name felt more at home to him anyway.

The headlamp was not a real headlamp of course. Such things were rare in the tunnels and not likely to be seen in the hands of a child. No, the headlamp was a carved wooden toy, its original concentric form long ago marked and pitted and burned, its end cap of liquid and floating trinkets broken. None of this mattered to Smiley, of course, having never seen it in its original state, or having any idea of its original purpose, his mind had filled the gaps, and with the help of a long piece of torn black fabric he had fashioned for himself a headlamp that gave him super powers. For down here, with the remaining stragglers of humanity who had refused to give in to the ending fate had handed them, they were the survivors, the makers of the new, the original dispossessed.