street rat (OPEN)
Dec 3, 2014 16:57:44 GMT -5
Post by goat on Dec 3, 2014 16:57:44 GMT -5
[googlefont="Pacifico:400"]
Charmaine Arevalo
I haven't seen my mother in a while.
I mean- I know she's not dead. Hopefully. But it's been a week and a half. My older sister has been in and out and she hasn't mentioned anything. Sure, my mother is never home anyway, but she always stops by with lunch. No mother means no food. Paloma brought 'round some bread scraps yesterday, but that isn't enough to feed 5 kids for days. Time to take matters into my own hands.
I left the care of the littlest kids to Regan, ignoring her insecure protesting. Rebekah and Kerry started to cry, but when I mentioned food their eyes cleared up right away. Tugging on a ratty coat and making sure my little siblings were safe inside the house, I made my way to town square.
There's a few bakeries around the town square, but I've never actually been inside one. That's for rich people. Do I look like a rich person to you? The answer is no. Nobody around here is really rich, anyway. The bakeries and restaurants don't have much business, but they're still here. And I'm going to rob one.
Imagine the scenario: A starved twig of a girl drowning in a torn black coat creeps behind the bakery. She can hear voices inside. Her breath hitches, but she remains still. When the voices die down, she intakes a deep breath and slowly pushes the door open. No reaction comes from inside. The counter is abandoned. A steaming loaf of bread sits on the counter.
The girl, who we now recognize as me, creeps toward the bread. She reaches her greedy hands out for it, her mouth already watering, when-
She is suddenly grabbed by the collar of her coat! The women at the counter has come back, and she is ma-a-ad. She scolds the young girl for being a "dirty, thieving rat" (her words, not mine) and throws her out by the scruff of her neck.
You do not have to imagine that scenario, because that's what just happened to me.
I lay sprawled on the ground, in the area behind the bakery. I can still smell the bread. It's taunting me, I swear. Defeated, I push myself to my feet. So much for being a hero to my siblings. The cold wind seems to bite harder as I walk around the side of the bakery. I'm staring down at my feet, so I don't manage to see the person standing in my way. I collide into them like an angry cow and get thrown back onto my butt.
I mutter some very impolite words for a 12 year old before staring up at the person. Hmm. An idea is making it's way into my mind.
"Hey. You," I say. I reach my hand out. "Got any cash?"
I mean- I know she's not dead. Hopefully. But it's been a week and a half. My older sister has been in and out and she hasn't mentioned anything. Sure, my mother is never home anyway, but she always stops by with lunch. No mother means no food. Paloma brought 'round some bread scraps yesterday, but that isn't enough to feed 5 kids for days. Time to take matters into my own hands.
I left the care of the littlest kids to Regan, ignoring her insecure protesting. Rebekah and Kerry started to cry, but when I mentioned food their eyes cleared up right away. Tugging on a ratty coat and making sure my little siblings were safe inside the house, I made my way to town square.
There's a few bakeries around the town square, but I've never actually been inside one. That's for rich people. Do I look like a rich person to you? The answer is no. Nobody around here is really rich, anyway. The bakeries and restaurants don't have much business, but they're still here. And I'm going to rob one.
Imagine the scenario: A starved twig of a girl drowning in a torn black coat creeps behind the bakery. She can hear voices inside. Her breath hitches, but she remains still. When the voices die down, she intakes a deep breath and slowly pushes the door open. No reaction comes from inside. The counter is abandoned. A steaming loaf of bread sits on the counter.
The girl, who we now recognize as me, creeps toward the bread. She reaches her greedy hands out for it, her mouth already watering, when-
She is suddenly grabbed by the collar of her coat! The women at the counter has come back, and she is ma-a-ad. She scolds the young girl for being a "dirty, thieving rat" (her words, not mine) and throws her out by the scruff of her neck.
You do not have to imagine that scenario, because that's what just happened to me.
I lay sprawled on the ground, in the area behind the bakery. I can still smell the bread. It's taunting me, I swear. Defeated, I push myself to my feet. So much for being a hero to my siblings. The cold wind seems to bite harder as I walk around the side of the bakery. I'm staring down at my feet, so I don't manage to see the person standing in my way. I collide into them like an angry cow and get thrown back onto my butt.
I mutter some very impolite words for a 12 year old before staring up at the person. Hmm. An idea is making it's way into my mind.
"Hey. You," I say. I reach my hand out. "Got any cash?"
