Fragile: Handle With Care

Fragile: Handle With Care - Chapter One

Chapter One

I huddled farther into the box in an attempt to warm myself up a bit. I rubbed my arms instinctively, feeling the goose bumps prickle beneath my fingertips.

The cardboard had gotten flimsier in the three months that I’ve had it. I’m glad that it hasn’t rained as much as I thought it would.

Even though the thin sweater that I had brought with me didn’t exactly provide much warmth, it still would’ve been nice today; one of the many windy days that the Bay Area brought.

I wish I would’ve known that if you left things unguarded that it was likely to disappear into the hands of someone else.

After that happened, I was hesitant to leave my spot, afraid I would come back to my hideout and find that my cardboard box would be gone, leaving me with absolutely no means of shelter and making me brave the cold all on my own.

I considered going to a homeless shelter, but I couldn’t will myself to. I don’t think it was a pride thing; I could care less about pride. I guess I was just too afraid that they’d reject me. Sure, I’d end up the same place I am now, but still.

My stomach roared. I could feel the vibrations tickling the interior of my stomach. The pain was slowly getting worse. And the only way to get rid of it was to eat. The last time I ate was four days ago. My body was slowly, but surely, getting accustomed to the lack of food.

You’d think that there were more compassionate people out there who would give a young person like me something to eat, but there aren’t. Getting free food was rare, especially in a big city like this. And when you did, people would snatch it right out of your hands, showing no remorse.

It’s times like these that I miss home, having the pantry at my fingertips. I guess I miss my family, too. Even arguing with my siblings was better than having no social interaction with people.

I’ve came to a conclusion; adventures suck.

***

I walked past a store window, one where I could see my reflection in. The store itself was kind of dingy. But then again, I wasn’t exactly in the nice side of town.

What I saw almost gave me a heart attack, but I didn’t because my heart is healthy.

My face was paler (from the lack of sun, no doubt) and stained with dirt. It looked like someone just took a piece of charcoal and rubbed it all over my face, neck, and other exposed part of my body. My hair was stiff and incredibly greasy. You could see a slight weight change. Running away was a great way to become thin.

I’m joking. Running away to become skinny is a horrible idea. Chances are, if you’re trying to lose weight, you’re doing it to impress somebody.Even if that somebody is yourself, it’s not like you’re going to see a mirror.

But I was getting to the point where I was close to starving, so I set off in search for a soup kitchen or food pantry. I didn’t really know what one looked like, so I was just planning on winging it. Maybe I could follow (or stalk) another homeless person to see where they got their food. Hopefully I wouldn’t end up outside somewhere they sold cigarettes or drugs.

I’ve discovered that people are extremely protective of their information—especially when it comes to getting free food. It’s not at all like in the movies where they watch each others’ backs; more like stab.

I finally stumbled—or rather pushed by the wind—across a sign that read ‘Glorious Heaven’. Okay, I’m a big, fat liar. It just said ‘Soup Kitchen’, but to me it was heaven.