Nowhere to call home

Doorways

I settled down into my new bed. It was hard as the one I had for last night. As hard as stone. But when I think about it, it's made of stone, so that would explain that. Tomorrow I would have to find a different one. It would be as hard, as cramped and as uncomfortable as this one. And waking up to kick to the gut from the owner, a series of curses shot at me. Yet another problem with sleeping in doorways. The list is endless, but with no place to call home, what choice do I have? If you haven't guessed yet, I'm a homeless. A begger. My name is Colla, and I was kicked out of my parents house at the age of 11. Don't feel sorry for me, I was the son they never wanted. Im now 17 and I've been homeless every since that point. I had to leave school a few months after my 11th birthday, the day I was kicked out. People were beginning to get suspicious about my ragged clothes and messed up hair. I became a laughing stock, without friends to support me. My nickname became Rag, and even the teachers called me that. It was the teachers who became suspicious, who started asking questions. I couldn't risk them finding anything out, so I left. Didn't turn up one day, and never went back. No one cared though, they were glad to see the back of me. So I'm without a house, proper education or even food most days. My typical food schedule is once every few days. My day to day life is begging on the streets of London, and finding a nice comfy stone doorway to spend the night.