Young Writers Society

My home was a piece of trash, matching the entire world, and it was as simple as that. We were lucky to have a room as big as we had, all 8 by 10 feet to call our own. We shared a small bathroom with the other couple dozen people on our floor. The water would stop running at least three times a week, always ice cold, and the two showers were just hoses and curtains, painful to wash under their random strong bursts.

Compared to those who lived below us in the alley it was a paradise. Those people were lucky to have a piece of soaked cardboard over their heads and a crumb to eat. Our cold, hard concrete floor and walls a haunting dream.

The alley was a paradise to others though, offering a sort of protection compared to the open streets. Everyone was able to dream of something better, but no one dared to dream that big. No one dreamed of becoming one of the few rich elites who never worried. Even the merchants who had their own small houses wouldn’t dare. Only one thing got you into that circle, and that was blood.

Early that morning a few of the stronger alley rats had dragged a body out towards the road. Tired of the stink they hoped to have the government drag it away. It was still there, rotting away as the day warmed. I had lost much of my sense of smell over the years and I was thankful, but this one body was worse.

Small, it seemed like a young child, although it could be an adult for all I knew. Starvation, exhaustion, and life warped everyone’s looks until age was impossible to decipher. Leaving people to judge each other solely by the suffering shown in their features.

Ignoring the body I moved inside. The building, like the streets, was a mixture of chaotic noise and silence. Yells and screams became a background music, while the silent rooms held darker secrets. I passed hidden faces and I knew no one’s names only that they were criminals. That was the only way you could afford this life.

At the end of a hallway, right side, third floor was the room that held all my secrets. Dark, terrifying, and silent. I had grown up within its walls, acknowledged my doom, and I would likely die in it.

When my parents left us I had wanted to move, forget the darkest parts and move forward, but I couldn’t. I had the money to, but I needed this room. I needed the reminders to keep away my stubborn hopes.

There had only been two changes to the room in that time. I moved my ‘bed’ of a few blankets from the farthest corner to next to the door. It was another way I stupidly protected my siblings. The second, of course, was my sister’s absence. After dealing out her blankets and ripping her clothes up to make more of my own she was forgotten.

The greatest accommodation of the entire place was the stove. It wasn’t one like those I had seen in pictures of the past and for the rich, but tiny. It was more of a safe way to build a fire within our room that looked pretty, in a hunk of metal kind of way, than a stove.

I dropped my bag onto my bed and sat down briefly, allowing myself a moment of thinking, but I was on my feet again quickly. I ignored my sweatshirt, although it’s hood would allow me to hide my face, it’d make everyone around me even more cautious than normal.

Instead, I leave my tank top free. It’s black like all my clothes, and tight against my skin, but different enough from the prostitutes that most people wouldn’t mistake me for one. Still, there was always the drunkard, or the rich who took in my beauty and ignored all the other girls, thinking they had a chance.

Back in the hallway, I found the same hidden faces, eyes trained lazily on certain parts of me. I moved swiftly until I was out on the rotten streets again. I couldn’t have been inside for more than fifteen minutes, but surprisingly the body was gone. Most likely one of the merchants had filed a complaint and someone came along, throwing the stranger into a truck already full and taking them away to be burnt and forgotten. That’s how we all went now. There wasn’t time, money, or space to bury all the dead, nor care about them.

I moved away from our shabby street to a slightly better one, letting my hair fall into my face as I went. It was a mask, just reaching past my shoulders in straight dark lines. I’d cut it only a few days before so it looked neat, with layers, and no dead ends. I’d learnt to copy the looks of those I saw, making myself fit in, and when I reached the days target street I did.

I never stole from the same street within a few days of my latest visit, the richer the longer I would wait, even if it’d be most profitable. Still, I passed every single street I stole from every day, that way I’d be seen both on days I stole and days I didn’t, leaving no pattern for suspicion.

The day’s pick was only a couple away from the most expensive. It sides held nice shops and even one apartment building. No one would live there, at least not permanently, instead using it for affairs and off the book meetings. The people on the street were dressed well, many with much more colourful choices than my own, and under the approaching afternoon sun it made sense, but I wouldn’t part with black.

My only exception was for a couple dark grey tops that I wore when the rest of my clothing stank and I didn’t have time to wash it, but those I always paired with my black jeans and leather boots. In the hottest months of the year I sadly gave in to a pair of shorts in order to fit in. I’d made them from a ruined pair of jeans. I’d found a stabbed man, who delusionally attached himself to me. I’d ended up having to resort to cutting him off, accidentally cutting my jeans in the process, along with my leg. My shorts had a matching scar.

On the corner of the street stood three girls, standing out against the rest of the crowd. I didn’t care to take in their features, but rather their clothes. Identical, perfect, and a symbol of something I hated. Their grey pleated skirts, white ironed shirts, tucked in, and neat red ties were my enemy. The small emblems stood out, bright blue. I couldn’t see the intricate details from my distance, but I knew it would only confirm them as the rich from the private school.

Their signs expressed enough information to know their reasoning for being there. Its simple words made me want to laugh. Help for those in Need. It was handwritten and an ugly blue to match their emblem. The people here may have needed help, but definitely not as much as those on my own street.

I slipped through those around me until I’m only a short distance from the girls. They had multiple boxes of food, which I bypassed. Very few would take that. Instead, I went to simply move past them, but my hand grabbed their school bags from the ground behind them. Next, I moved into the nearest alley, where I began to search their bags.

I found their purses quickly, all bright expensive leather. I grabbed the cash and left the rest. I didn't count it out, but I knew that it would add up to at least a few hundred, from each girl. I replaced their wallets as I found them, and moved back onto the street replacing the bags before heading as far away as possible.

Normally I wouldn’t care to return something I’d stolen, but those bags always carried something with a tracker, and dumping the bag wouldn’t be enough to stop them from finding me. They would get my fingerprints and hunt me down. They wouldn’t notice missing cash, instead assuming they spent it and forgot. They have hoards to replace it sitting at home.

I could’ve been finished for the day, the girls’ money plus what I had earned at school would’ve been enough for multiple days of full meals, but I didn’t want to stop. I knew it was stupid, but I just wanted to get a little more. I searched for a new target as I rounded the streets corner, moving on to the next.

That’s when I saw her, standing about twenty yards away, and I froze. Of course I knew that there was a chance I would someday run into her, but I’d always hoped that something would prevent it. It was a big city, huge, with a few million inhabitants, and of those there was probably thousands of girl’s in similar situations to hers, but I had finally found her.

A small part of me wished to run to her, envelope her in my arms and take her away, but I couldn’t. No doubt my parents had been stupid and sold her for cheap, but buying her back would be much more expensive.

I took her in slowly, she’d grown, but after two years that was inevitable. I could tell she looked just like me, dark hair, dark eyes, and light skin. Her clothes could hardly be called such, making the beauty I attempted to control blinding. Every man was looking at her with lust, every woman with jealousy.

I knew it’d only be a few minutes until someone paid up and took her back inside off the street, but I couldn’t muster up the strength to move. A middle-aged man in a grey suit, moved towards her in smooth strides, whispering into her ear when he reached his target. I could hear her small giggle from where I stood, perfectly fake. She turned her head away from him slightly, teasingly and her eyes caught mine.

The smile, the giggles everything was cut off. The men noticed her suddenly stiff state and began to question it, following her eyes, but right before they reached me she was back. She grabbed his hand pulling it to her waist. This time she was the one to whisper in his ear before shoving him towards the door.

She didn’t look back at me until the last second, but that singular second held so much emotion I couldn’t seem to process. The smile was replaced by an emotionless mouth, one portraying a lack of care. The singular tear that she would wipe away just as quickly as it slipped through her mask exposed her true pain. Then there was the miniscule motion of her fingers. One hand called me toward her, to save her. The other pushed me away, to save myself, and to save her trouble.

I was so frozen I nearly didn’t notice the hand slipping into my jean pocket, reaching for the money I had just earned myself, but I was able to stop it from leaving. The arm connected to the hand was covered by a leather jacket, and it was obviously a guy, heavily muscled.

“Let my money go,” I told him with the emotion and power of a yell, but only as loud as a whisper.

My eyes found his face making me look up and allowing my hair to slip away from my face slightly.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He drawled, intoxication slipping through every syllable. The smell of alcohol on someone’s breathe was another day to day occurrence, but I still picked up on it. “Maybe I’ll let you keep it, as a trade.” he slurred half his words, but I deciphered them easily.

“No thanks,” I stated looking away from his yellow teeth. I tightened my grip on his wrist, waiting for his hand to open before pulling it out of my pocket. It didn’t take long, and as soon as I knew my money was safe I quickly ridded myself of him. His arm was twisted behind his back and he winced, a baby.

“Don’t mess with me,” I spoke, filling my voice with disgust and threats.

“Got it!” He responded, suddenly closer to sober. I dropped his arm quickly, shoving him forward into the crowd where he nearly knocked multiple people down. I would pay all the money I’d ever earned to never have to deal with a guy like him again. Another impossible wish.

I moved on again, giving up on finding another target for the day I headed back the way I’d come. When I was close to home again I turned onto my favourite street. The people here were just as desperate and dying as any other place, but it was also different. It held the main base for the Dorshadass, something I tended to ignore, but it also allowed for a sense of calm that few other places contained.

On the left side, three doors down was Abaddon’s grocery, the only place I had ever shopped in years. The owner had higher prices than many places and was incredibly intimidating, but that made him only more likeable to me. The prices ensured that nothing was rotten, or poisoned, something I’d learnt the hard way. And Abaddon’s behaviour meant we got along wonderfully.

He would also never make acceptions for his prices, or at least never admit to them, and maybe I’d been the only one that knew differently. Once, when I was ten and my parents had disappeared for a couple weeks Liam had gotten sick and I’d stumbled in with ten bucks I’d nearly gotten caught stealing. I’d grabbed a jug of water and walked up to him, handing him the money that I knew would just barely cover it.

He yelled at me that I couldn’t do simple math and must be slacking off in school, shoving a small loaf of bread into my arms. He didn’t stop cursing me until he’d shoved me out his door, telling me not to come back until I could count properly.

No one ever cared to save each other in this world, and yet on that day he had saved my youngest brother. Maybe he didn’t even know he did it, but he had nonetheless.

When I walked in the shop was empty of any other shoppers, like normal. It was hardly bigger than my apartment, but filled with shelves of simple necessities, and nothing fancier. I grabbed two jugs of water by the front door before continuing.

“Having a good day?” Abaddon asked me from behind the counter. He was probably in his late thirties, a ripe old age for this area of town.

“Helped some rich kids. Got a bonus.” I responded, moving toward the canned goods, fresh food was a treat that I rarely bothered with.

Abaddon laughed, congratulating me. We always spoke in this same way, as if I had a real job, and we both knew it was false. Sometimes I liked to think what job I might have that would pay in such odd intervals, but it was pointless.

When I handed over my haul to Abaddon his lips twitched with a smile, the same way they did every time I got enough to sustain myself properly. He had a hidden heart below his scary features. Most didn’t dare watch his face though. Large scars ran down both sides, and no one knew how he got them. My bet was he did it to himself to scare people because that was what they did.

I left the store with my own smile threatening to peak across my features, along with my water, a couple dozen cans, three bananas to surprise my brothers with, and four hundred left. I was glad that for all the bad luck I’d had that day something was making up for it.