Time.
I gaze through the crowd of busy workmen and everyone who basically had a life. As they would walk by I phrase three words in an audible but pitiful sentence.
“Please? Spare change?”
Most wouldn’t even give me a glance but a few of the kinder souls would slip anywhere between one dollar to twenty-five cents in my little tin can and I would thank them but I doubt they heard me. I’ve been homeless ever since my parents died when I was eleven, I’m sixteen now and I’ve been working the streets doing everything I could just to keep clothes on my back and my stomach full. Hours passed and traffic was slowing down so I called it quits and was about to leave when Alfonzo and his gang came around the corner.
“I see you’ve been workin’ our block good huh,” Alfonzo said in that low menacing voice.
“What have I told you about beggin’ on this side of the street!?”
Then he pushed me backwards, hard. I fell onto the rough concrete scraping my right elbow and all the money I had worked for was now scattered across the concrete, most fell in a drain grate near by. I attempted to grab for the rest but Alfonzo stepped on my hand and I let out a yelp. Alfonzo laughed and then proceeded to grind my hand into the concrete while I screamed and begged him to stop. I grabbed for his leg but one of his goons stepped in and kicked me in the stomach. I clutched my stomach with my free hand and groaned, tears started streaming from my eyes like waterfalls and all I heard was Alfonzo Deep disgusting laugh. Bystanders who were just passing by stopped and watched from a distance as Alfonzo and his goons terrorize me and didn’t lift a finger to stop it. I hated Alfonzo, I hated those people, I hated everyone.
“Now get up and get the fuck outta here, and if I see you around my block again imma kill you!”
I got up and pushed past the small crowd of onlookers and I ran. I ran for all I was worth. My left eye was swollen shut and my right arm and hand were a bloody mess. As I ran the blocks seemed endless and time seemed to have stopped but I finally made it under the highway overpass. I limped to my little corner I called home. It consisted of a metal pot I found that I used it to cook if I had some canned food, which was rare, and a couple of worn and tattered blankets. I slumped down in the blankets and sobbed. What had I done to deserve this? Why did my parents leave me? That afternoon I cried myself to sleep with the sounds of zooming cars passing above me.
