Everybody Wants To Rule the World

Chapter Three: Troy

"COME BACK YOU DIRTY BASTARD!!"
The words ring in my ears along with the sound of my tattered leather shoes slapping the pavement and my mirthless laughter, it's a call to the other market vendors that a theft has been committed, it's like an imitation of a crows call it signals ill-wishes.

I run until I find it, I always stop shortly staring up at it, the rusty fire escape that I climb up to the roof of a abandoned apartment building, the clay bricks have faded to the ugliest shade of grey and it is a tall depiction of a modern haunted house.

In a bustling city you'd imagine most people would notice a teenage boy living on a shed on the roof of a apartment building, but this city is over run with crime there are gunshots every night and chalk body prints in the sidewalk in the morning, and then again even if I was caught no one would do anything.

12-23-35 I unlock the combination on the locker lock I use to protect my home, I open the unstable door to find my one room house which is about the size of a large private bathroom, except without being well furnished and having running water in the house. Which I get from a grimy tap that they must have used to water the garden they used to have on the roof, now only a few limp but tough daisies survive.

I set down the canvas bag on my hammock/bed, I look around at a an old arm chair I had tied and used a gears and levers kind of invention to get it up here, it's one of those super ugly floral prints, and that duct tape patches all over it, but it is the most cushiony thing I've ever sat on. I have a Tupperware box where I store the food I snatch that doesn't go bad and on top a last of bag with fruits and veggies. It's a rare treat the perishables and once a month I steal a slice of thick white bread and two slices of strong cheese and have a small feast. I have a card board box with a side cut out which I use as a desk and I decorated one wall with a thin quilt I sewed out of free stuff from the thrift store. The other walls are covered with newspaper clippings.

I get out my newest addition a solar power clock, I have two dirty window and a light bulb that is screwed into a still working electricity source, I place the clock it the speckled sunlight and hope that will do the trick.

I dig out a long but thin Tupperware box under my hammock that holds my clothing, its stock full of ugly button up shirts from the 80's with wacky patterns, pairs of rugged cargo shorts and a few pairs of sweats and XXL hoodies and I mirror, I check my self out, I don't look too dirty, my black hair hides the dirt, it's grown out to my shoulders in loose curls but shaved down on the sides, my eyes cut through my tanned skin, and shine through in a bright blue, I have ripples of muscles in arms and the out line of abs, from my everyday workouts, but I am well scarred with a deep scar from behind my earlobe to my collarbone and and consistently scraped up legs and arms, I pull on a pair of old soccer shorts, and make my way to the streets, I run until I feel as though my face may be getting sunburnt, I do around a hundred sit ups and do 20 pull-up on a empty advertisement signs, the washout city barely cares. I start on a high number of push-ups, all is going smoothly, of course until now.

"You think you're tough don't cha kid."
A scruffy middle aged man says aggressively.
I stand up.
"I mean no harm."
I say in a very assertive tone.
"Well how can I be sure?"
He pulls a gun out of his pants and points it at me, we are only standing a t a few feet away. I breath calmly, I remind myself that this has happened before and it worked out just find.
"I assure you, everything is okay."
I say in a even tone.
"How can I be sure?"
Says the man laughing drunkly as he clicks a bullet into place.
I raise my hands above my head.
The man laughs again, he's on drugs, he seems so distracted by the fact that I what I did was like funniest thing ever. I lunge and tackle him to the ground, grabbing the gun. My every move pulsing with the urge to live.

The addict crawls out from under me.
"HEY YOU!"
He stops and looks terrified.
My eyes soften.
"No more trouble."
Then he bolts.

I hear back home and nap I doze off comfortably during the day an suffer from some paranoia in the night, once I wake up I make myself dinner. With a apple some half cooked rice plus some beef jerky. I enjoy my dinners even if they are gross, I mean food is food. I really can't know if I'll have it the next day.  I relax and watch my clock and it strikes midnight. I smile and go outside, this city does sleep we don't have enough taxes to keep on street lights and people have curfews so almost everything is dark so the only thing that never sleeps is the sky it's filled with the most famous pint pricks of light, the stars, they reach their rays down to earth and memorize us, I've always loved the stars, I lay down one the middle of the top not caring about the painful concrete on my skull and relax, I write poems in my head thinking of the beauty of this evil world, and it's shocking it leaves me breathless every night, around one o clock I go back inside and I take the newspaper clippings and clip out words and paste them into my poem and paste it on the walls, so yes I am a street rat who steals from the good womayn and man who
works hard just to provide for a family, but I am also a boy who writes poetry and wishes for love upon night stars.