𝕷𝖚𝖉𝖔𝖘 ✷ 𝑨𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓

𝟐𝟗.- 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

 -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

"Goddamn, we got so close, it's the 'almost' that hurts me the most."

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

During a big part of my life I didn't know the meaning of stealing.

It's not that I didn't own a dictionary, but rather that I didn't understand the word itself.

Stealing is taking away from someone something that is not yours.

But what if that something was never truly theirs to begin with? What if it was built on the backs of people who had no choice, taken from hands that never got to hold it long enough to call it their own? What if the world itself is nothing but a collection of stolen things, passed around by those with power while the rest of us are left to fight for scraps?

I used to think stealing was simple—black and white, right and wrong. That's what I was taught. But then I saw hungry people take food they couldn't afford, desperate hands slipping medicine into coat pockets because their children were sick, soldiers with polished boots looting homes under the excuse of order.

Because when you grow up in a world where survival is a privilege, not a right, the definition starts to blur.

I saw my mother barter away her last piece of jewelry just to get us a meal, watched people trade loyalty for medicine, saw the rich claim ownership over things they never bled for.

I realized then that the word "stealing" had never applied to people like them. It was only ever a crime when people like us did it.

I've stolen before. Many times.

The first time was out of necessity. Food, from a soldier's supplies. It was just sitting there, untouched, while we starved. My fingers shook as I took it, my breath uneven, my heart pounding in my ears. I expected alarms to go off, guards to descend upon me, some divine punishment to strike me down. Nothing happened. And that night, for the first time in days, I didn't go to sleep hungry.

The second time was easier. A jacket left unattended. The third, a bag of supplies from an abandoned house. The fourth, a gun. By the time I understood how the world worked, taking what I needed had become second nature.

So, no. This isn't my first time stealing. But it is the first time I'll be doing it with a purpose bigger than myself.

We look homeless. Which means we look like civilians. We've moved out of the 'classroom' and into the hallway, and we're all wearing a similar sort of ensemble, tattered and grayish and frayed. 

I pull my scarf higher, tucking my chin into the thick fabric, letting it obscure the lower half of my face. My hood is already drawn low over my eyes, casting shadows where I need them most. If I could disappear entirely into the folds of my clothing, I would.