scarlet dawn | tmnt 2012

i. little thief

Four years later...

"Get back here, you little thief! I'M CALLIN' THE COPS!"

The silence of the New York City night is broken by an angry shout from a corner store.

A young figure bursts through the doors of the shop. The owner follows, shaking his fist and screaming curses, but he doesn't get far. The looter is barely more than a shadow as she darts away into the night. Her knuckles are white as snow as she clutches her purse of stolen goods, and her heart pounds in her ears, threatening to burst from her chest. Adrenaline rushes through her veins, propelling her forward, putting as much distance between the herself and the store as she can. This is far from the first time she's had the police called on her, but there's yet to be a time she was ever caught.

That shopkeeper can call every cop in the city if he wants. She'll be long gone before they arrive.

Four years on these cruel streets have forced her to learn to survive, to outsmart and outrun those who pose a threat to her. She may be small, but she's stealthy and nimble—qualities necessary for a thief like her. She picks up the pace, disappearing further into the darkness of the city. Behind her, the furious shouts of the shopkeeper fade away, but she doesn't stop running. Both her mind and body continue to race, never stopping.

BOOM!

The girl cringes as thunder rolls overhead. Moments later, droplets of rain begin to fall from the sky like tears from the heavens. They start as chilly little sprinkles that prick her like needles, but quickly turn into cold, hard stabs as they fall harder, stinging her like darts. She huffs and keeps moving, scouring desperately for shelter from the harsh weather. Her breath hitches as she spots the awning of a closed shop up ahead and her feet work faster to reach it. The ice-cold sensation of the rain lifts from her skin as she ducks beneath its cover. Moments later, lightning rips through the inky sky like the claw of a vicious beast, making her squeak.

The girl's brown eyes dart rapidly to and fro, searching her surroundings for any sign of trouble. If there's one thing life on these streets has taught her, it's to always stay on her toes and never let her guard down. Only when she notes she's alone does she heave an exhausted sigh, slumping against the building and sinking to the ground.

Her white tank top and brown cargo pants are soaked with moisture—a combination of rain and sweat—and her long braid is messy as ever, stray strands of hair sticking to her skin. She'll have to find somewhere to clean herself up tomorrow, maybe a public bathroom. A gust of wind howls around her and she shivers and hugs herself for warmth. She may be freezing and tired, but at least she's found shelter from the rain tonight. Other times, she hasn't been as lucky.

The girl sighs, staring at her purse laying beside her. There's not much inside—just her old hairbrush, a few dollars and some change, a pocket knife she'd foraged from somewhere, and the tiny package of bread she'd shoplifted from the store. Not much, but better than nothing. There's a weight sitting in her empty stomach, and she can't tell if it's guilt or hunger as she digs through her bag and pulls out a slice of bread.

Probably both, she decides before digging in.

With everything she's stolen, no doubt she's got her own fan club of angry cops and store owners by now. Although she's mastered it over the years, a part of her feels guilty having to steal. Then again, her options are limited. Sometimes she manages to snag meals from churches or other places that hand them out, and the occasional few dollars from pedestrians that gaze upon her with pity. But for the most part, thievery is how she gets by. It's not like she can go knocking on someone's door asking for help, either. Everything that was supposed to help her—her old foster parents, the foster care system itself, and even her real parents—have failed her, left her to suffer alone. She's learned the hard way the only person that can truly help her is herself.

Talk about trust issues.

The little orphan licks her lips as she finishes off the rest of her bread. Around her, lights from apartment buildings glow like stars in the darkness of the storm. She can't help but wonder what it's like to live in a cozy apartment, surrounded by a permanent family. She's lived in her fair share of apartments over the years, but never with the same people. She's never known the pleasure of getting to settle down. Every time she found herself getting used to a new home, she'd be whisked away to another one.

The brunette shuts her eyes. On sad, lonely nights like these, her old foster mother would sing her a song to cheer her up. After four years, she still remembers every word, and the way her little heart would swell with joy as the melody drifted through the darkness of her bedroom. She sighs and parts her lips in the beginning of a song. Her voice is broken and husky, barely carrying across the alleyway, but she sings anyway, finishing the song that had been sung to her so long ago.

"Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near."

"That's the time
You must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile."

Once those lyrics had guided her, given her hope. When she was younger she'd believed every word, thinking one day her life would change for the better if only she remained happy. She knows better than to dream of such things now. All the singing of happiness and sunny skies couldn't protect her from the harsh realities of the world. Her life now is like a prison, trapping her in an endless cycle: wake up, steal, hide, sleep, repeat. What reason would a lonely orphan like her have to smile?

With a sigh, the little girl places her purse on the ground and settles down, resting her head on it like a pillow. She curls her body into a ball, doing her best to shield herself from the cold. The storm rages on around her, but her tired mind shuts it out as she tries her best to drift off.

Just get some rest, Scarlet, she thinks to herself. When the sun rises, you'll get back up again.