Chapter 2 (Beggar)

To survive years on the streets, you need rules. The first one is never trust anyone. You do that and you’d have no one to identify your body. You’d be lucky it even made it to the morgue. Or worse, you could end up sold as a fucking prostitute for small pocket change. There’s no way out of that one. Those pimps get you hooked on any crap they feel like sticking up your veins and it isn't always drugs.

The second rule- if you're a female, always stink, even if you manage to get to the river or a tap. You never clean up too nicely. Smelling bad keeps fuckers away.

The third rule- don't think someone is your friend, there's no fucking friends in this place, everybody wants something. I made that mistake a few times and almost got shot by a street gang last year when this girl Tally told them I stole her drugs, the same drugs she shot up her veins.

And the fourth, and this is an important one, never steal. Many of us do, well most. I did it one time, just once, to a kid 2 years ago. I was fucking cold and hadn't eaten for days. I saw him stash a ten in the front pocket of his hoody and thought fuck it. I got the hoody, but only after he beat the fuck out of me. It turned out he was only short and was actually 17.

After he beat me, he took pity on me and gave me a hundred, it was sick, but I took the cash and it kept me fed for months. Since then, I hadn't had any problems. No run-ins with trouble, well at least not anything worth adding to my nightmares. I never said I'm innocent.

You'd think I went through hell to survive on the street. Truth is, we homeless folks are all trying to survive. We spend more time fighting against nature and saving our strength until our next meal than we do fighting each other. Not to say that I have a clean slate or it's all peachy.

The back door next to the red dumpsters I'm resting between bangs open,

“I'm fine Zero!” A sweet female voice says.

“Den and Spades with us,” Her heels click so close to me. I still.

“I didn't want you to worry. I wanted to come.” There’s a pause, no footsteps.

“You know I will.” Her voice softens.

I roll my eyes, it's obviously a guy.

I liked a boy once, blue eyes, red Curly hair. He worked by the supermarket downtown, he was cute, around my age now. I think I was fourteen or fifteen.

I used to beg three blocks away from the supermarket and instead of saving for a loaf of bread, the moment I had enough cash I went to the store to buy a lollipop. This happened on average- twice a day.

I’d wash my face and tidy myself up before I got there and I’d smile. I hated smiling, but he was cute.

The first few times I went, he scowled, looking at me like I'm gonna steal, as if.

About a week later a sign was posted on the display window, ‘no homeless folks allowed’.

I didn't think it meant me, I made sure to clean up before I entered the place. I didn't have my always stink rule at that time, so I didn't think I looked homeless.

So, I was surprised when a few steps into the supermarket, he came storming up to me with a security guy trailing behind him screaming,

“Didn't you see the sign? No beggars, get your dirty ass outa here.”

People stopped and watched but nobody said anything. I never liked a boy again, in fact when I see them, I look the other way except for one time. One other time I liked a man. One other time I thought I loved him with all my heart. One other time and it was the last.

This girl is obviously lucky; I bet she's dating some guy in one of those fancy suits. I can't see her face, but just hearing her voice, I can tell she's a softy that wouldn't survive an hour in my world.

She’s still talking to the person on the phone, but I can't hear much anymore because she's moved further away from me. I shift into my corner, my body still covered by a cardboard box I found in the dumpster. It’s a few minutes later that I hear her heels drumming closer to the club, closer to me. She's going really fast now by the way her heels are clicking on the tar. Maybe she's upset. I listen quietly because I ain't got nothing better to do, it's not like I have a TV or radio.

What's that sound? Other people's feet, heavy footsteps. My heart begins to race as I recognize those heavy footfalls, it's a man, shit, not man, men.

Scream bitch, scream for help, but she doesn't.

She’s going to get herself in some deep trouble now. There's a struggle. I can hear a muttered curse and the sound of her shoe dropping,

“I'm a Satan Sniper you fuckwad, let me go.” Her screech sounds like she's struggling. They must have her against a wall, or in a stronghold, shit.

I don't see anything, only hear one of the men’s response,

“I don't give a fuck. After I'm done with you bitch my friend here is gonna fuck you until you bleed and then I'm gonna slit your fucking throat.”

I listen to the swearing and her weak wails. Shit, she's going to get raped. Should I help? I wanna scream for her but what if they have friends around the alley just keeping watch, damn it to hell.

With a pounding heart I remove the cardboard box off my body. Once I'm sure they can't hear me, I crawl slowly out of my nest. They don't notice me, but I ain't surprised by this. I give it a good few seconds then I peep around the dumpster.

The one guy is African American, bald and meaty. He's holding her neck in a chokehold with a gun pointed to her head.

The blonde guy is trying to get her jeans down, and struggling. Her make up is running down her cheeks, red locks sticking up in all directions.

God, she’s so tiny and short.

I creep closer, sure not to draw attention to myself.

Blondie finally gets pissed when her jeans don't come down and slits it open, with a knife.

Wrong move.

Her spiked heel of her right boot gets him first in the nuts, then in the face when he bends down. She does some twisty move and gets out of the other guys neck hold. The men make a quick recover and both start hitting her.

Blondie slaps her across the face as the other guy upper cuts her. She screams and bends down, weaving.

Fuck, I know that if I don't help, they gonna kill her. I creep closer, still keeping to the dark. Her elbow makes contact with the throat of the man holding the gun, cutting off his oxygen.

The girl got moves.

His hands instinctively go for his neck causing him to drop the weapon a few feet away from me.

I don't think, just act.

Running out of the shadows I sprint to the gun, pick it up, click the safety off, and pull the trigger.

First bullet to the African Americans head, then to the blonde fucker’s heart. Both kill shots, both drop dead.

How I managed to do that, is another story I don't wanna remember, my nightmare. The reason why I still beg on the streets for scraps. Why I never finished school, why I can't even get a fucking ID.

And why the world would always just know me as Beggar.