KZ's and Dragoln's Short Stories [2022 EDITION]

Worthless Vault

07.10.22

He had never seen so many homeless people in one place.

This was the specific street he heard about all the time. Even though he was homeschooled, the word still got to him pretty quickly.

For two years, he disguised himself as one of them, circling the slums in the rags he hid in a compartment under his bed. To make it even more realistic, he never washed them, but he didn't seem to mind the dirt or the smell one bit.

The plan was simple: on the day he got his allowance, he'd slip into his torn clothes and smoothly escape from his house, slinking past the guards and snaking through his maze-like courtyard. He'd split the money into fifths and anonymously give one part to the poor, leaving a grand fortune of two hundred pounds anywhere random on the streets and keeping the eight hundred for himself.

His mother and father were clueless. They never came around to figuring it out. 

That was good. It meant that they didn't care what he did with the one grand he got every week. 

Just because he was born into fortune didn't mean he was a typical snob. Once he was taught about the social hierarchy and realised that he was near the very top of it, he drew back from his lesson in disgust. The young boy was both blessed and cursed with strong morals.

He was terrified when the first money incident had been screened on the news. The second time it happened, it was printed all over the net like wanted posters all over buildings. Now, people have gotten used to it. An everyday hero had come to drop off an expected prize somewhere in the city and he was sure he was the least likely suspect.

Usually, he took the underground network, or trampled the lesser-known avenues but this.

This was different. 

Icy tremors panged through his entire body as he travelled down the human landfill. Many were sleeping. Most gave him looks of curiosity though all had their faces laced with pain because of the merciless hunger that gnawed at the insides of their stomachs.

The boy could not believe what he was seeing. Death reeked through the area. Not food, not pollution. Death. Had the government paid no attention to this at all? 

It was gonna take more than one-fifth of his allowance to get everyone out of their current position. 

The wad of cash scrunched in his hand as a mugger gripped him by the back of the neck, nails dug into his flesh.

His scream alerted the homeless yet their strength would not be enough to help him.

His eyes started to tear and his legs started to flail. 

"Please!" That was all he could manage to scream before the hand on his neck tightened. 

"The money kid," the abuser growled, his tone low and harsh. "I know you're the person."

"What are you talking about?" The boy whimpered helplessly.

"The two hundred. The news. I know. Give it to me," the overpowered criminal whipped out a blade, a stolen dagger that he brought to the young boy's throat.

Silently, he pleaded to the poor surrounding him. It was typical of him to hate asking for help. He gave. He offered. Never received.

But everyone was afraid. Everyone froze just to observe. It was frequent for criminals to roam the place and no one would take a risk. They'd do anything just to live another day or even another hour. Time is precious. The boy knew that. But to these people, it was their entire vault. It was all they had.

"You don't know that," the victim was brave enough to grimace until his throat began to sear.

"Maybe I'll just fish it out of your pockets when I kill you." The growls got more frightening with every word.

A drop of blood cried onto the criminal's clenched fist.

The boy had an entire life ahead of him. Being rich also meant he was well-educated and extremely intelligent. He'd have a good life if it wasn't about to be taken by a worthless lowlife.

"Okay! Okay! Here!" The boy thrust the mound of cash into the robber's gloved hand, "spare me."

Satisfied with the unjust payment, the convict dropped the meek boy and he plummeted to the concrete. The avenue claimed by the homeless was never on patrol so the man didn't bother fleeing the scene in a hurry.

At first, the young boy squeezed his eyes shut, endless thoughts about the immoral corrupting the world overwhelming him. It was also more on the fact that nothing about this was fair.

So he was about to do something that made him demand these people off the streets and out of poverty.

As he picked himself up, he wiped the blood off his neck and gave the fearful witnesses a smirk, pulling out the real money he planned on gifting.

"My cover is blown," his determined voice announced and it pounded the street. "I won't let it affect my belief in fairness though."

Real laminate notes littered down the path he walked. It left a dense trail in front of the stunned mass altogether adding up to a total of one thousand pounds.

He hoped that the criminal would be okay spending the counterfeit money he stole whilst threatening him just then.

~