Hunger rages through me, scraping and clawing at my gut and my chest and my throat and every part of my body. I feel exhausted. I feel dizzy. But I force myself to keep going on under the white-hot sun. I would like for nothing more than to lay down in some grassy meadow and go to sleep, perhaps forever, but I have people to take care of.
There is dust under my bare feet. Dust all around me. Dust inside me. Dust in my breath and my blood and my mind and my soul. I breathe dust. I cough dust. Dry and hazy into the heat around me.
I am seventeen years old but I’m tall. I have a strong jaw. A bit of stubble. All of this causes me to look older than I am. But it still has not helped me in finding a job. A tossed out and uneducated runaway has no place in this economy.
That is why I’m begging for scraps from the passers by with their polished shoes and expensive phones and bejeweled phone cases that drift by this busy street. I spent hours and hours forcing my aching feet forwards towards the next disinterested passers by and I will spend hours more doing exactly this.
It’s an aching existence. A hungry existence. A lonely existence. It withers my heart and chokes my soul to see the way people look at me. They way they sneer and turn away. It kills me on the inside to see the level of complete disinterest they have in my misery. They have products to buy. Things to afford. No time to help me out. They couldn’t care less. And I have to deal with the fact that they couldn’t care less for hours upon hours upon hours.
But I cannot give up. I need to gather as much money and food as I can. Because my children rely on me. They’re not really my children. They’re fellow children that ended up on the streets in some way or another. But they’re young. They’re sweet. They depend on me. I’m the closest thing to a parent they have.
It really breaks my heart to see Kalkita, Tyave, Monan and Stelli go hungry. It breaks my heart to see them having to beg for food and water and money when they should be in school. It breaks my heart to worry about them, and worry about them, and never stop worrying about them. But I have to. Because for some reason or another I love them.
For some reason or another humans have this need to arrange themselves into groups and communities no matter what. It’s the most beautiful thing, love. It’s what has kept us alive all this time. What has kept the heartbeat of humanity going. But these days love has no power. And it’s hard, bearing that.
I walk up to a lady in a gleaming white blouse with embroidered flowers.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” I ask. She looks at my torn, frayed, ragged shirt and my lack of shoes. She says nothing and keeps on walking.
I walk up to a man in a stuffed leather jacket.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” He looks down his nose at my skinny, shivering form and says no.
I walk up to a man with a new, gleaming backpack.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” He looks at my empty hands and walks on.
I walk up to a woman with a bright pink translucent scarf.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” She gives me a few coins which I quickly hide away in the cloth bag inside my shirt. They’re not much. A few dollars. Not enough. Not nearly.
I walk up to a man with his hair styled in spikes.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” He sneers at me and walks on.
I walk up to a girl eating an ice cream cone.
“Can you spare a few coins for my little siblings?” She says sorry and looks sad but gives me nothing.
I keep going on, as the sun bends its arc through the sky and the shadows cast by the giant buildings all around us get longer and longer. I am exhausted but it doesn’t matter. The exhaustion is more in my soul than my body. My body is tired, yes, but not abjectly. My soul is abjectly drained. The exhaustion of having been denied again and again and again. Of being reminded again and again what my place is in this society. That my place is nothing in this society.
I think about all of us. Not just my personal family but all the other pods of street kids that walk the busy streets trying to beg or find odd work or occasionally sell knickknacks. We all are desperate for normalcy, and organize ourselves into pods each lead by an older teenager, a sort of makeshift parent. They are all my family. All of them. We all suffer together, we work together, we dream together. And I wish I could save them. I wish I could save everyone.
Eventually the sun is not as burning hot anymore. Shadows glaze over the streets and the sky is a darker blue. The streets themselves thin out. And there are barely any people left. I keep going to them, nonetheless. Begging for whatever they can give me. But eventually even the steady trickle of pedestrians slows to a stop. And I am left with only empty streets and fading light.
This world feels almost dead. Like a ghost world. The world feels alive again. Like dawn has just awoken. I can breathe again. My heart thrums with dread and soars with hope. I walk down the littered, dirty streets until I find the telephone pole my family is supposed to meet under. I wait there until I see my kiddos arriving from all corners of the street.
Monan, a girl right now though she isn’t always, with her dark, curly hair and large, sad eyes and wide, round face. She’s coming from the left intersection, moving slowly, wide eyes searching. She’s just fourteen. She ran away from an abusive father and has found a new father in me. She’s a dreamer, a singer, and pretends to be stronger than she is.
Kalkita, with her dark, dark eyes and large eyelashes and thin face. The wind is in her hair as she moves up from the south. She is only fifteen. She’s a sister and a daughter and a friend to all of us. She has so much burning anger and nowhere to put it. She loves the wind and the clouds and the sky. She was thrown out of her home for failing to meet expectations.
Trayve is thirteen years old. He’s coming up from behind me. He’s a tiny little thing. A scared little thing. He lets people walk over him too much. He lets the ways people talk and act get to him too much. It’s so hard keeping his spirits somewhat up. Hard but worth it. I don’t know why he’s here. He never talks about it.
Stelli is coming behind Monan. Stelli is tiny, with her thick curls matting frizzy in her hair. She has sparkling green eyes and the most adorable smile I have ever seen. She’s nine. The youngest street kid I’ve ever seen. She claims that her parents loved her, that they still love her. And I let her believe it. It doesn’t matter. She’s our baby and we love her.
We come together and we sit down. The pavement is still hot underneath us. Hot and hard and rough. There is so much tiredness in everyone’s eyes. Tiredness and hunger. We cannot rest here long. We have to leave before the police come looking for us. But we can rest. Finally.
We don’t speak for a bit of time. No words are needed as we can all read so infinitely much in each other’s eyes. Finally Stelli opens up her mouth,
“Tell me about the Sky World,” she says, voice small and hopeful.
And so I tell them the story again, in little bits and pieces, about the world in the sky where everything is plenty, everything is safe, everything is free. It’s hope as much as it is strength. I sigh after finishing the story. It’s a story they’ve all heard many times. A story they love.
“When the rich people try to get into the Sky World,” Trayve starts, “I’m going to smile so hard at them from the inside.”
“My favourite part of the story is when the Sky World will descend,” Kalkita speaks breathlessly, eyes scanning the clouds, “and make the Ground World beautiful like it. I can’t wait until that happens.”
“And out spirits will all descend with it, and live again,” Monan smiles softly. We are more spirit than flesh already. We are spirits just aching to go up up up and never come down again until we can all come down together.
But the pull of the Ground World on our flesh is too strong to ignore.
“I hate the Ground World,” Stelli bares her teeth, “it’s so loud and mean and dirty.”
“It sure is dirty,” I agree, “but when I see you, Stelli, when I see all of you, everything around fades.”
“I wish things could fade,” Trayve replies, “like my fear of the police.”
“The police won’t get us. They’re barely anywhere,” Monan replies to calm him down.
“Still guys, it’s better safe than sorry.” And Kalkita is right. We should be moving into the alleyways by now. Moving into the places where the police don’t check. We’ve all seen entire streets of kids go missing. We all know what happens when the cops think anyone is bothering the rich people too much, intruding on their space. We’ve all seen the bodies riddled with bullet holes and left in the parks and streets as a warning to the rest of us.
We all get up and start walking into the small, crowded alley filled with garbage. We go to the very middle of the alley where streetlights don’t reach in. Where there are no building lights. Where no-one will see us in the dark. Where police officers won’t find us. And we find the piles of newspapers and cardboard boxes we’ve artfully arranged to be some form of shelter.
“I had a friend who said that if we could have guns too the police would be scared of us for a change,” Monan wonders.
“I bet I’d be great at using a gun,” Trayve smiles.
“Even we could make people give us money!” Stelli exclaims. And she’s right. We could.
“That would be good,” I smile at everyone softly.
“Where can we get guns, do you guys think?” Kalkita has a mischievous look in her eyes and I have to shut the conversation down before it gets too dangerous. Thankfully I am able to.
We hide under piles of newspapers and cardboard and drift off to sleep at the edges of the alley’s concrete, trying and failing to ignore the chill of the night. It’s miserable.
———297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiTfipw9DdF
It’s morning. The light is barely reaching the sky. And our stomachs ache with a sharp pain. We pool together what little money we have and make our way to the grocery store. They hate us in there, but we’re paying customers so they can’t force us out.
We cower away from the shoppers in their new, clean clothes who sneer down their noses at us. They have clean hair and clean faces and clean hands. They match the stony surreality of the grocery store perfectly.
Trayve and Stelli look at the piles and towers of food all around us with large, aching, hungry eyes. It hurts my heart to see. I wish I could get them all the mountains of food that are displayed in here. I wish I could shove something in my pockets and run. But I can’t. The sensors would go off.
“Guys, let’s get the stuff and get out of here dash,” Kalkita whisphers.
“Yeah,” Monan agrees. I take Stelli’s hand just as it was about to reach an apple and I pull her towards the bread section. I ruffle her hair as a sort of apology when she looks at me with those big eyes of hers. Though I’m exhausted.
We take one loaf of bread and two cans of beans. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. It’s painful. But my kids straggle close to me as I place the items in front of the cashier.
This cashier is an older man. The he looks at us with sad eyes. Not truly sympathetic eyes, no. But eyes that feel a certain level of guilt at seeing our bone-weary condition.
He gives us three apples for free with our purchase. Older cashiers are always nice.
“Thank you,” Monan says to him. I give him a weary smile.
We sit down to eat our food in the alley behind the grocery store. We pass around the one bottle of water we have along with it. Each of us get four pieces of bread and a third of the can of beans. Stelli gets a full apple and the other two apples we split between the remaining four of us. That is all the food we will have for today. It’s not less food than we normally get.
We have no time to make it last. We have to be on the streets by the time the morning commuters get out and about. We have to make the most of the day so we have money tomorrow.
As we eat Stelli tells us about the dream she had last night.
“We were all running down a big big staircase,” she continues, “and at the bottom there was a giant cat. It was a nice cat.”
“Wow,” Kalkita smiles at her.
“We all got on it’s back.”
“And then what?” Trayve asks. Stelli doesn’t say anything as she chews on her piece of bread.
“It took us to the forest.”
“Wow,” I say, “that must’ve been scary.”
“No it was very nice.”
“I’m glad you had that dream.” Monan’s tired voice is sugar sweet.
We walk to our corner of the city streets, steps aching, and we disperse. My heart pangs with aching as I watch them go. They’re my family. My kids. I want to spend more time with them. But we take what we have. We take what we have to take.
Before she leaves with Kalkita I hear Stelli cough. I think nothing of it. We’re all sick. We all cough. But something in my heart is afraid.
———
I watch the horizon darken as I walk towards the post where my family is gathered. Everyone’s face is clouded over with worry. As I keep walking I see why. Stelli bursts into an uncontrollable coughing fit, that lasts minutes. The poor little girl is deathly pale and sickly. Even more so than usual. It sends waves of heavy dread through my heart and down into my stomach.
If she needs medicine she’s going to die.
I hasten my steps to get to my family faster.
“Is Stelli okay?” I ask everyone. Monan looks at me with eyes clouded over in dread.
“No,” Kalkita finally answers, “she’s got a horrible cough.” My heart drops into my stomach.
“You’re strong, Stelli,” I tell her, “you’ll make it through this. I promise.” But she’s not strong, is she? She’s nine years old. She’s a young child.
When we get to the piles of cardboard boxes that we sleep in, Monan tucks himself close behind Stelli’s back and the rest of us lie down on the other side of the narrow alley. We hide away in the small stretch of alley where the street lights don’t reach in. And we try to make her more comfortable.
In the fading light Monan gently strokes her hair. The rest of us tell her a story. She shivers in the chilly air.
“Once there was a girl that had wings,” Trayve starts.
“And her name was Stelli,” I add.
“She had to hide her wings from everyone,” Kalkita whisphers solemnly.
“Why?” Stelli asks in a hoarse, weak voice.
“Shh, don’t talk,” Kalkita chides.
“Okay,” Stelli croaks.
“Stelli. Don’t talk.” I try and fail to keep humour in my worried voice.
“She had to hide her wings because everyone would want to study her,” Trayve answers finally.
“The scientists would want to know why she had wings and they would do all kinds of experiments on her.” I make up the next part of the story.
“Of course she did fly,” Monan says, “but in secret.”
Our little girl coughs into the cold night air. And it’s an agonized sound. A horrible sound. I try to push down my fear for her sake. If we all panic she will panic more. But hope is hard to hold on to.
But we comfort her in the tiniest way, in the only way that we can. We tell her the story. We tell her about how the little girl walked to the meadow at the very edge of town where nobody would see her and she flew in secret. We tell her about the children she met playing in the meadow. About how they were kind to her and they were nice friends. About how she trusted them enough to show them her wings. We talk of the adventures they had together tricking people who were greedy and vain. We talk of how one day it was time for this Stelli to go back to the lands where she came from, where everyone had wings. And how all the other children wanted to come along. So she brought them along.
We talk until we can’t see each other in the darkness anymore. Until she falls asleep. And then there is horrible, horrible silence that is thick with dread. We all want to say something. None of us can.
I think of how we’ve all been sick before. We’ve all been gravely sick before. We’ve all been close to death before. And yet we’re all still here. If we could make it those times we can make it this time. I try to tell myself this. But I don’t believe it. How many times can you cheat death before death catches up to you? We’ve cheated death too many times.
Stelli’s sleep isn’t peaceful. She coughs in her sleep, and sometimes she groans. My sleep isn’t peaceful. I dream of an all-consuming blackness that claws at me with its thick, heavy weight. I sleep though, and that’s something. I need whatever strength I can find to gather resources tomorrow. 297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpEM05TP9jB
———
The morning air is dead-cold. It bites into my arms and my legs and my chest and my throat. Still I force myself up anyways. I can’t lose time. I spare a moment to curse the weather for being so cruel in our time of need.
“How about Monan stays with Stelli and I get the food with Reean?” Kalkita plans.
Everyone agrees.
Kalkita and I go off and we hurry back with bread and beans. There was no kind old man at the cash register today. Just eyes that looked down on us disdainfully everywhere we turned. Still, with Kalkita at my side I was able to be strong. Especially thinking of all that was at stake.
We give Stelli most of the food. She gingerly takes a bit of her bread, and scrunches her nose in distaste. We chide her gently to eat. She has to eat. Thankfully, finally she is able to force the bread down her dry throat. The worst part of being sick is that you lose your appetite, even if you don’t lose your hunger. But thankfully she is able to eat. She finishes her food and Trayve smiles softly. Monan’s eyes light up with a tiny bit of hope.
“How is Stelli going to go out in this condition?” Monan asks.
“She’s not,” Kalkita replies, “the rest of us are just going to have to try extra hard.” There is determination set in her voice and also pragmatism. She believes we can do it. We all know that we have to do it. We’re going to have to try extra hard. I hurry towards the streets.
———297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBG2LkHgHsr
I rush to the next person who is walking briskly in her high heels.
“Please, ma’am could you please spare some money? My sister is sick and she’s going to die without food.” She ignores me so I walk after her. “Please ma’am. Just a few dollars.” My heart sinks as she ignores me again. But I don’t give up. “Ma’am. Just a few dollars. Just a few. That’s all we ask.” Finally she digs into her purse and she produces a handful of one dollar coins. She hands them to me, nose wrinkling in disgust, and I store them in the little pocket I hide in my clothes. It’s made of good cloth so the coins don’t fall.
I walk up to the next person walking by. He has polished leather shoes and a lean jacket.
“Please, sir, could you spare us some money? My sister is sick. She needs food. We need money.”
“No,” he states in a commanding voice. But I am not cowed.
“Sir, please. We’ll be so grateful to you if you just give us a few dollars. Sir, we need to eat. Spare some mercy.”
“Shoo off, young boy.”
“Sir I will not leave until you give me money.” I keep my pace fast to keep up with his long legs. And I keep looking up at him with my wide, pleading eyes. I don’t back down. I can’t back down. For Stelli. For my family.
“Fine,” he surrenders, and tosses me a handful of coins. I quickly pocket them and and I rush to the next passerby.
This day of begging is going marvellously. I wish I could be this assertive all the time. But it’s too dangerous. The police might catch wind of what you’re doing and come kill you. But we’re going to die anyways if we don’t get money. We might as well take our chances.
“Sir could you spare a few dollars?” I ask a man in a neatly ironed shirt.
“Fuck off, child,” he tells me apathetically as he brushes past me. But I scramble after him.
“Sir my sister is sick and we need money so we can buy her food. Please spare us some money. Please show a little mercy.”
“I don’t have money to spare.”
“Please. Just a few dollars. Nothing much, sir. Just a few dollars.”
“Ask someone else.”
“I’m asking you and I’m going to keep asking you until you give me something.” I square my shoulders and keep up with him. Finally, he relents, pulling out a bill from his wallet and handing it to me. I got a whole bill. Wow!
“Thank you, sir!”
I go to the next passerby, a man in engraved leather boots.
“Please, sir, spare us some money.” He says nothing and keeps walking, so I try again. “Please, sir, we’re hungry. My siblings are hungry. And we need food. Please help us.” Again he says nothing. “I won’t leave until you spare us a few dollars,” I tell him. He pushes me backwards but I quickly recover and keep following him. “Sir, please, we would be so grateful.” Again he says nothing. This is a hard one. I reach out and grab him by the wrist. He turns around and sighs.
“Here,” he says as he hands me a bill. I thank him and place it in my pocket. We’ll probably have enough to feed Stelli and enough left over in savings when inevitably the rest of us get sick.
I shudder at the thought of my other siblings getting sick. But it’s inevitable. When one of us is sick the others soon follow. It’s going to be an absolutely miserable few weeks, as the scraping violence of sickness will wrack through all of us. But hopefully, hopefully, hopefully we’ll get through it.
A thought runs through me. What if I don’t lose Stelli? What if I lose Kalkita or Monan or Trayve? That would be just as bad. Of course they would be in a better place. But the unbearableness of missing them would be too much. I go to the next person.
This is a woman wearing a frilly top. I ask her for money. And I ask her again. And I ask her again. Until finally she gives me a ten dollar bill. That’s a lot. I thank her brightly, though there is barely any brightness inside my anxious heart.
I move on to the next person. And the next. And the next. Eventually I am so exhausted that I cannot keep going. I take a moment to sit down by the side of the street. My stomach growls hungrily and my throat is parched with thirst. The hot sun beats down over my head and makes it throb groggily. I wish I could go inside. It’s cool and shady and restful inside. But I can’t.
I gather up my strength and I get up and follow another woman.
“Ma’am could you spare a few dollars? My siblings and I need to eat.” She immediately gives me two coins. And it’s not a lot. Not a lot at all. But I thank her anyways.
I walk up to a group of youths. They look a handful of years older than me. But unlike me all of them are well-dressed in new, clean, sturdy clothes and they have clean faces and shining hair.
“Please could you spare a few dollars?” I ask them.
“Hey!” A booming voice cuts through the streets. “You there!” I turn around and see a police officer stalking towards me. I stop. The rich youths stop. My heart jumps into my throat while my stomach roils with terror.
“Yes, sir?” My voice is timid and meek.
“I’ve heard that you’ve been causing trouble for the honest people of this city as they go about their day.”
I gulp.
“No, sir.”
“That’s not what I’ve been hearing.”
“He hasn’t been causing trouble,” one of the girls in the group pipes up. I turn around to look at her curiously. “We’ve been watching him this whole time,” she continues, “he’s been nothing but polite and courteous.”
“Really?” The officer asks, “can you all confirm this?”
“Yes,” one of the boys says, “we can confirm that he hasn’t been bothering anyone.”
“So he hasn’t been aggressively and annoyingly asking for money?”
“No, sir,” a boy replies confidently.
“We’ll I guess I’ll be on my way then. Thank you for the witness.” He turns to leave.
“Thank you,” I say, and this time it’s with genuine gratitude.
“Think nothing of it,” the first girl tells me. “Hey why are you begging for money again?”
“My sister is sick,” I tell her. “We need to feed her.”
“We can do you one better,” another girl says, “we can treat her.” My eyes go wide at the generous offer.
“Thank you so much,” I breathe.
“Meet us at Runway Boulevard and Seven Fifteen Street at nine,” she states, “and we’ll get you guys all set up.”
———
I sit at the intersection between Runway Boulevard and Seven Fifteen Street. Stelli is on my lap. Trayve is running his fingers through her hair. Monan is a boy right now and he’s looking across the streets to see if they have arrived. Kalkita is silent. Thoughtful. Reflective. We’ve never been shown such kindness before. It makes sense that she doesn’t understand it.
A white car drives up to us and stops. It’s huge. It’s clean. It’s beautiful. The driver’s seat has the boy from before and the other seats are empty.
We get in, and inside it’s so cool and smells good. There are enough seats for all of us, and the seats are soft and plush and sink down beneath us. It’s been years since I’ve had anything like this.
“Your car is very beautiful,” Monan tells the young man.
“Thank you.” His voice is smooth. Everything about him is smooth. I cradle Stelli against my side and just let myself relax.
“Thank you for helping us.” Trayve’s voice is full of wonder and gratitude.
“Oh you’re welcome.”
“I just realized,” I start, trying to sound as sophisticated as I can, “that we don’t know your name.”
“And I don’t know your names as well. My name is Josenon.”
“I’m Manon. And this is my younger brother Trayve, this is my older sister Kalkita. This is my younger sister Stelli and this is my older brother Reean.” She gestures at us.
“It’s nice to meet you guys.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I reply. “And thank you so much for helping us. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
“Oh I’m sure you’ll repay us enough.”
Kalkita hasn’t said anything so far. She looks out the window, head slumped against the side of the car. Stelli doesn’t talk to him but she whisphers in my ear that she likes this car. She likes how soft it is. I whispher back to her that she deserves the softest things in the world.
We don’t get taken to a hospital as I thought we would. Instead we get taken to a large apartment complex.
“My uncle owns this apartment, but he doesn’t live in it. He’s renting it out to people but they won’t arrive for another month. You can stay here until then. It doesn’t have wifi but it has everything else. I’ve got a whole bunch of groceries for you at the back of the car. And if you ever need anything my number is on the notepad beside the phone. I’ll be back tomorrow to take Stelli to the doctor.”
“Wow, Josenen. Thank you so much!” Trayve’s voice is full of joy. It lifts my spirits to see him so happy.
I carry Stelli to the elevator while the others carry the bags and bags of groceries. We emerge in a small room with a single door which Josenen unlocks with his key.
Inside is a flat that’s so grand. It has polished stone floors and many large windows. There are silk curtains on the windows and woven rugs on the floors. There is a carved coat rack and tables and shelves lining the walls which have all sorts of decorations on them. There are vases on the floors and six large sofas scattered in a wobbly W, with coffee tables in between them. There is a huge television taking up most of one wall and the other walls have paintings on them.
There is a long, wide hallway that leads to other rooms and I put Stelli down in the large, soft bed that is in the first room. None of us say anything as we just gawk at the apartment. It’s all so pretty.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Josenen tells us as he leaves. We have the flat to ourselves now.
“Wow,” says Trayve, looking around, “this place is amazing.
“Let’s put the groceries in the fridge.” There is something tense about Kalkita’s voice. But I decide not to comment on it as we go to the bags of groceries we left at the door.
It takes us a minute to find the kitchen. It’s large, with sparkly counters, two ovens, two sinks, and stoves built into the counters. The fridge is massive with two doors and the groceries we have fill it to the brim.
“This will last us a while,” Monan exclaims brightly.
“Let’s start eating,” Trayve suggests.
“Ooh, perfect plan,” Monan echoes. We go to the fridge and take out some bread and turkey and cheese and vegetables and sauce to make sandwiches with.
“Kalkita, you’ve been awfully quiet,” I tell her.
“I just don’t feel like talking.” Her words are dark.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She leaves the kitchen.
I take Stelli’s sandwiches and a tall glass of mango juice and go to her room. I set them on the nightstand beside her bed, which is made of dark polished wood. Kalkita is there, kneeling on the floor beside Stelli.
“You have to eat, baby sister,” I tell Stelli. “You have to get your strength up. Kalkita your sandwiches are in the kitchen.”
“Reean. Are we going to stay here?” Stelli asks me as I help her up on the pillows.
“For a while, darling. For a while.” I help her eat the sandwiches which are filled with meat and vegetables and fat and bread. She eats both hungrily, talking to me about her favourite songs. It’s great to see her eat until she’s full.
“This juice is so sweet,” she tells me as she drains the glass.
I smile at her.
———
There is a big box of those disposable cloth masks along with the groceries he gave us. We all put them on and sit or lie across Stelli’s bed. There is music playing. We found an old vinyl record player and a collection of vinyl CDs. Right now they’re playing a song about missing your homeland. We’re not paying attention to the words as we talk to each other.
“We’ll live like kings this month.” Trayve smiles.
“We should be living like kings every month,” Kalkita retorts, “but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Time spent with you guys is always precious,” Monan tells us, “you guys are the best family I could ever hope for.”
“Aww, thanks” I tell her.
“I’m a boy now by the way.”
“Okay,” I tell him.
“This is a room fit for a princess,” Stelli exclaims. “And this bed is so soft. Like a princess bed.”
“All the best for my princess,” Kalkita brushes her fingers through Stelli’s hair.
“It’s so nice to just rest,” Trayve sighs.
“I know. I’m just basking in it.” I smile at him.
Stelli coughs but it’s not as bad as before. We found over-the-counter cough syrup in the cupboards and gave it to her. It did wonders.
“It’s so nice and shady and cool here,” she says from where she’s lying.
We’re all trying very hard to not think about what will happen once the month is up.
“It was nice of them to help us so much.”
We keep talking until we’re drowsy with sleep and then we all go to our seperate beds, full and cool and well-rested. For the first time in years.
———
The next day we eat a large breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup. We each gorge ourselves on seven pancakes, we might as well let our self control go. I give Stelli a glass full of lemon juice and honey, because that helps with sickness. And we just talk the whole day.
We talk about what we would do if we had magic powers. What powers we’d want. How we’d hide them. What havoc we’d wreck. We talk about how we’d surprise people when we had fame and fortune as supervillains. How we’d get revenge.
Sometime around two o’clock Josenen comes to pick Stelli up to go to the hospital. Kalkita goes with her. And it’s just the three of us for a bit. We talk about what Stelli must be experiencing at the doctors. We talk about how much Kalkita cares for her. We talk about anything except the eventuality of this month ending.
Stelli comes back with a bottle of pills and we put her right back to bed. Kalkita is smiling. And it seems genuine, if strained. For the first time since we got here.
We make dinner, which is tacos and milkshakes. And after dinner we lay around Stelli’s bed, talking. We give her medecine befire she goes to sleep.
This day is perfect. Well, almost.
The next day Stelli is better than she was before. And the day after that she’s even better. And the day after that she’s barely sick. And by the time the week is up her medecine is out and she isn’t sick. We celebrate with a box of cookies being passed around.
And the next day Josenen calls me. He asks to talk to me specifically. And I oblige. He tells me that he’s coming to pick me up and him and his friends want to talk to me privately. I let him, because I have to.
Kalkita gives me a long hug. Her eyes are worried.
———
There are four girls and three boys in the van. And me. They drive me to a library and we rent out one of the soundproof rooms. We all sit around the table and they look at me seriously. I feel a bit too hot.
“We’re not expecting you to pay us back for this month,” a girl with curly brown hair tells me, “but we are going to tell you something important.”
“Why do you think all the street kids are teenagers?” A boy asks me.
And I turn that question over and over in my head. I had always wondered the same thing but I had never found the answer. I always thought the social security system must’ve been better before and it’s only this generation of runaways and thrown outs that got screwed over.
“I don’t know,” I finally answer.
“My dad’s a cop,” a red-haired girl tells me. “He says that it’s because every few years they do a clean sweep of the streets, killing every unhoused person they find.”
I try not to let my fear show on my face. I don’t even know if I believe it. But it doesn’t sound too far fetched. The police are always killing us.
“What if we told you that we could get your whole family off the streets? We could allow them to stay in the flat. And we could send them to school. With an education they’d all be able to get jobs and live their lives. We just ask for one thing in return.”
My spirits soar at the thought of my children no longer having to face hunger, harsh weather, sickness, and constant fear. I would give anything for that.
“What do I have to do?”
“See that’s the thing,” a boy in a silver-buttoned jacket starts, “we’re going to sign a blood deal.”
Blood deals are deeply illegal to break. They have to hold up their end. I have to hold up mine. If either of us breaks it we get life in prison. Everyone knows this.
“Our side of the bargain is that we will provide food, shelter, medecine, and education for Kalkita, Monan, Trayve and Stelli until they all graduate. Your end of the deal is that you let us kill you.”
“What?” What kind of a deal is that? I think about my children. How incredibly much I will miss them. How achingly much they will miss me. I know it’s not worth it. I know they wouldn’t want me to do it. Wouldn’t let me do it if they knew what I was signing over.
But I think about the constant, multi-pronged dangers of the streets. And how I’m constantly afraid for them. And my fear wins over. There is no choice I can say but yes.
“Alright.” The word flies out of my throat too fast for me to catch it. I apologize internally to my family for leaving them. And I let fear fall thick and heavy over me like a blanket in the summertime.
We walk to the court and sign the documents. My hands shake as I write down my name in the neat white page that is cleaner than I usually am.
When I get home I practically collapse into Kalkita’s arms.
———
I tell my family that the nice people will be paying for their needs and schooling. I tell them that I will be away working in a diamond mine far away. They tell me not to go and I hug them tight and tell them that I will miss them. I start crying and they don’t know the real reason why.
I spend as much time with all of them as I can. I savour it as much as I can. I know that I signed my own death warrant. I know I don’t have much time with them left.
The world is dark around me. Each word of Monan’s, each question of Stelli’s, each sarcastic quip of Kalkita’s each wondering of Trayve’s, it cuts deep into my heart and makes it overflow with pain. It feels like it’s all too much and not nearly enough.
I try to hide my sorrow but I cannot.
“Why do you look so sad?” Trayve asks me.
“I… I’m just going to miss you guys,” I lie.
“So don’t go.” Kalkita’s tone is much deeper and darker than the words she speaks.
“I have to pay them back for helping us so much.”
“But we’ll miss you!” Stelli whines. “We’re a family and we have to stay together.”
“We will be together in the Sky World,” I promise her.
“We’re going to see each other before then, though?” Monan’s words are worried.
“We will,” I lie. I gather everyone up in a group hug and my heart feels as if it’s about to burst. I can’t take it anymore. But I love them. I love them. I love them.
———
Finally the day of reckoning arrives. Fear courses dark through my throat and my chest and every part of my body. The world seems like it’s a blurred smearing of gray. My tongue tastes like rainwater. My steps are heavy. The world around me flows strangely and slowly.
I hug each of my family members. Far too tight for it to be comfortable. I try to savour them. And then we do a group hug. And I let myself cry.
My tears are still flowing as I get into the white car the rich kids put me in. It’s too soft and claustrophobic. It’s too dark and dismal. I speak no words.
I silently strip out of my clothes and put on the shorts they give me. I speak no words. There are none to say.
I think everyone can hear my heartbeat in my chest as I’m lead to a large, polished mahogany room.
It’s somehow both light and dark in there at the same time. It’s all polished wood. Wooden walls. Hugh wooden ceilings. A wooden floor with rugs. Wooden frames around the windows.
There is a row of plush chairs against one wall that is filled with college-aged people talking and looking at me. They are intrigued at the sight of me. Like I’m some odd curiosity. I have to fight to get my breaths in.
I feel like an animal.
There is a chain and a metal collar that extends down from the high ceiling. And a metal board under that. The sight of them makes me shiver. My hands get cuffed behind my back as I am put in the collar. I can still stand while I’m wearing it but they push me down to make me kneel. They’ve gotta make sure I know my place after all.
“Now,” Josenen declares to the crowd in a booming voice that sends fear shaking through me, “who wants to draw the first blood?” A dozen eager hands shoot up. But it’s a girl with dyed blonde curls and a bright orange dress that gets picked. She holds up a shining silver knife and makes a small cut on my bare arm, just by my shoulder.
It doesn’t hurt very much but it makes the whole world tilt devastatingly sharp. Undeniably real. Here I am. Doing this. There’s no way to escape. I start praying in my head. Try to not let my terror and grief and my horror and desperation show on my face.
The next one to walk up to me is a boy in a blood red shirt. He crouches down in front of me. His eyes are dark and steely and hard. He digs the knife into my thigh and I try not to cringe in pain.
Then it’s another boy who comes up and hurts me. Then it’s a girl. Then two more girls then a boy.
The cuts get more and more numerous and it gets harder and harder to hide my pain, until I can’t anymore. The knife digs into my flesh and slices through me. Across my chest. Over my ribs. Down my legs. Over my back. Around my arms. Across my chin. The blade is sharp and stinging and bloody and cruel. There is no place it leaves untouched. I lose more and more blood, getting increasingly dizzy and lightheaded. The cuts cross over each other in intricate, deep-cutting, agonizing lines.
I end up shying away from the knife. I end up begging for them to stop. For mercy. But they do not listen. They just hold me in place and keep going with their macabre show, the audience looking on in delight. It is as if I don’t have a voice at all.
I think vaguely that I must look terrible. Covered in blood and cuts and scars on every part of my body. A wretched beast that is more creature than human. But the onlookers just stare at me in horrible fascination. Like I’m a strange new science experiment for them. Like they are getting to pick and prod at their new toy until it breaks. They are enthralled by me. Fascinated by my pain and my blood and my wretchedness.
A girl walks up to me and she crouches down in front of me, dark blue eyes meeting my own. But she doesn’t dig in with the knife. She just reaches over and kisses me on my bleeding lips. And this, somehow, is more disturbing than everything everyone else has done so far. She holds me by the hair so that I can’t get away. The onlookers laugh. It’s a terrible, grating sound.
And then it keeps going just as it has been before. People raising their hands and lining up to press the knife into my body. New and expensive shoes striding across my increasingly swimming vision. The hurt goes on and on and on. Each minute there is a new person making their mark on my body. As if my body is theirs to do what they wish with it. And there is no respite.
The hard metal sheet I’m kneeling on is covered in blood. Dark and red and horrible. I feel sick looking at so much of my own blood. I feel sick in so many ways. In more ways than it’s possible to count. I miss my family.
The room looms dark and the windows glow eerie. This place is too rich for people like me. It’s too cruel for people like me.
I wonder who these people are, to be so sadistic. What unholiness have they embraced and why?
The pain burns through me, sharp, burning agony all over my body and especially in my soul. I try to retreat into my mind but I can’t. There is no escaping this. I know that death is coming soon. I cannot even cry, but I want so desperately to cry. To scream. To go back to my family.
I pray that they will forgive me.297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡV6OfJqi2Jj
297Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF0NDHw8Xix
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