A New Perspective

Prologue

I don't understand life. I don't understand why we are put up to the challenge of surviving in such a cruel and negative world. Well, I've been told different in school as a kid. I've been told that we are to make the most of this gift of life and not throw it away, that every bad thing that occurs, happens for a reason and that something good will come out of it. What lies were those? When has anything good ever happened to me? Right now, I'm homeless, living on the streets, after being kicked out by my drug addict of a mother. She's done nothing for me anyways and I never felt safe in that home. To be honest, I feel safer out here, in this alley way, in downtown LA, behind this huge ass building that a lot of expensive looking people come in and out of almost every day. I'm fine with living this way.

I'm thirteen years old and I've been calling this alleyway my home for about a year now after couch-surfing for quite a bit. I was thrown out when I was eleven and managed to couch-surf until I turned twelve five months later. But from being on the streets for so long, I've picked up a routine, I keep myself busy so I don't have to focus on my declining mental health. You know, I had to learn fast, how to grow up and act as my own caregiver. I learned how to forage a signature for permissions slips from class, I learned how to cover for my mother and I was able to get into her email at the public library whenever I need to respond to an email from a principal or teacher. I learned these little tricks here and there, but I have almost been caught twice.

Now, you might be thinking, why haven't I sought out help from the police or other services so I can be put in foster care or something along those lines, so I wouldn't have to struggle and try to survive on the streets? Well, here's the reason. I don't believe I deserve to be loved, to have a loving home. I never have, so what makes it so that I could this time around? My mother always told me that I was a burden, a waste of space and time. I believe her. I waste my own time and take up my own space. I'm irritated by my very existence every day.

There's a lot more crap in my life to cover that would explain my bitterness towards it. I see people on the streets all the time, kids at school, that are enjoying and living life to the fullest. I question how they do so, how they can live with themselves like that, when I can barely smile without that crushing pain in my chest.

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I carry myself home from school that day on my stick thin legs. My stomach growls, hungry for any type of food that I can possibly get. I haven't been able to get a job yet. The people in this town believe that I'm too young so I will take advantage of the free snacks at school and if I'm really desperate, I will try to steal from a small outside market on the streets or did through the garbage until I find something that looks fresh enough not to kill me.

School has ended now which means my food supply for the day has also ended. I sigh, not wanting to pick between the two options that lay before me. I can't steal again, that's just not the kind of person that I am. Maybe I'll scavenge for food again, there has to be something I can eat, even if it's just a small portion.

I carry on, taking my stuff to the alley and placing it there for when I come back. I'm not afraid of somebody stealing it, it's pretty fall in there and I've never seen anyone walk down that alley before. I think I'm safe.

I head down a few blocks, admiring the pretty scenery of the stores that hug me from either side of the street. The only positive things about living out on the streets are that I'm away from my crazy mother and I get to go anywhere at anytime to enjoy the scenery of downtown LA. Despite being a packed and busy city, I think it's beautiful.

I stroll down the walk, counting each brick that my feet land on as they carry me to the nearest source of free food. I can feel my stomach rumbling from inside. I knew I hadn't eaten enough at school today.