Gotham Streets

Blood Of Billionaires

      I rummaged furiously through the garbage. My cold, wet, fingers began to numb as the weather raged on. 

"Come on... Come on!" I said to myself, ignoring the strange looks of the people who passed me by. I reached the bottom, the black trash bag was sealed tight and the thought made me shiver. I held the trash bag in one hand, the rain began to hug it as it hugged me. I hurried and opened the bag! The sweet smells of baked goods flooded my cold nose. I took a deep breath in before closing the bag up again. I put my hood on and began to fast walk. 

"Score one for Charlie" I said to myself, as I accelerated my speed to make it back home.
Arriving, I took large steps approaching the door. I began to alternate from my toes to my heel, going up and down as I stood in front of the door. I knocked thrice, then waited. The door opened to an unfriendly face. It was an older women who came and went from our hang out, homeless, like the rest of us. A half-cracked smile aroused from my mouth, I never smiled much. I handed her a large piece of bread. Her wrinkly face lessened just a bit as she gratefully smiled accepting the bread. I walked further into the large building, greeted by faces filled with hope. I took a piece of bread and left the rest for the other dozens of starving kids.

This place wasn't just mine, not anymore, it belonged to all the homeless kids and teens. What I claim from the warehouse is the room underground, my room. That's where me and Cat sleep. Cat and I, we used to stay up late talking, playing cards, or sometimes we'd go out and steal stuff to sell off.

I walked to the back area with the bread, I split it in half and made sure Cat got some. She looked at me with an odd glimmer in her eye. 

"Thanks" she said, taking medium to large bites into the slightly still fresh bread. I took a bite and sat beside her. Her black leather outfit shinned of wetness. 

"Where were you?" I asked, noticing something odd going on with Cat. 

"Out" she said short. 

"Out where" I pushed.

"Does it matter?!" She snapped.

"Hey, sorry. Just, you seem different" I said. She relaxed herself. She stood up, standing across from me. Her green goggles sat on top of her brown, curly haired, head firmly. 

"I watched two people get murdered. A boy, my age saw the whole thing" she said a bit nonchalant. I looked at her with a look I couldn't describe, wanting more to the story. 

"I almost feel sorry for him" she said, sitting down again.

What you don't understand is, if you live on the street, things happen. Murder, robberies, arsenal, and more happen every single day.

When I was born, I luckily was found by some young people who practically owned the warehouse. I was trained by them my whole life almost. I knew how to fight at the age of four, I could pick pocket at six, and legitimately steal by eight. Four years ago, right before I turned ten, me and them ended up going on a shopping run. We finally had gotten enough money to buy me a cup cake! We walked into the store, and long story short... They wound up on the wrong end of a gun. Nowadays, occasionally we have a sad soul walk through the door with a story to tell and goods to sell. I've heard it all before, all the stories that come walking or crawling through that door I've heard about a hundred times, and we forgot how to care. So when Cat said she almost felt sorry, that means something.

I laid down on the couch, stretching my body out. 

"Who got slugged?" I asked, getting comfortable. She looked at me, surprised by my choice to use slang. 

"I don't know, some billionaires," she said. I sat up quickly. 

"The Wayne's!?" I asked, startling her by my suddenness!