Life of a Street Kid ☑️

Chapter 1

I ran from the infuriated bakery as he stormed out of his bakery. His fist shook in the air while he cursed and stomped the ground as I got farther away. My worn out shoes, I had stolen from some idiot guys who hadn't watched their clothes properly, pounded on the ground as I ran. I could feel the wind through the tiny hole at my toe. I looked back towards the baker. The poor guy could barely walk through the shop without losing his breathe let alone chase after me. But this was survival it was him or me. At least that's what I told myself as I tucked away the bread in the satchel.

My luck was going good today. I had gotten two loafs of bread and an apple before I had gotten caught by the old man. He had been caught up on some sort of argument with his wife. Something about how they should or shouldn't sell some sort of bread. I didn't know, my attention was on the apple and the two loafs. I did see the wife leave the bakery through the back. Any way, I would have never been caught if the old man hadn't glanced my way when I took the second loaf. I knew I should have stopped at the apple and first loaf but I couldn't help the risk.

I smiled at the thought of the thrill as I ducked behind some barrels. From my hiding spot I saw the old geezer go back inside after he got his breath back. His face was priceless when he looked back once more. His bushy eyebrows were scrunched in and his lips were puckered comically. He seemed angry that he couldn't come after me, his fault for being too well fed.

When I thought the street was clear of nosy people, I got out from behind the barrels. I needed to get back to my place before someone saw my treasures and decided they wanted them for their selves. Plus my hide and seek game lost me some daylight. I didn't want to end up far away from my place at night. Some pretty bad things happened at night.

Not many people took my usual routes home. Let's say they're not the safest place to wander into because of some rumor about a little someone. But I could handle myself even if there was trouble; if someone messes with me they'll have a hell of a surprise waiting in store for them. 

Most people knew not to mess with me so I didn't get many problems. I got my reputation when I fought of a group of street kids. Some kids were around to watch the brawl and spread the word when I ended on top. Ever since then I was sort of avoided, feared, and left alone, all the good things. That's why I was surprised to find some very unwelcome people on my route.

I heard them around the corner. It wasn't very hard with them laughing like some drunkards in a pub. There was one sprawled on the ground with his hands tied in front of him when I saw them. Blood spotted the ground around him and stained his dirty ragged white shirt near the neck.

 By the looks of it he sure wasn't winning any argument he had with the others. The other three just laughed and kicked the guy while he was down, literally. They insulted him while they were beating the crap out of him. 

They kept saying, "How do you feel about us now. Are we still lower than you now? It doesn't seem like it to me."

Personally I wouldn't usually wind up in someone else's fight, just wasn't my style. I only cared about myself but as once as one of the three took out a knife I told myself that I was getting involved because I needed to get home and the stupid bastards were in my way. Besides they would have learned sooner or later not to get into my territory from someone else. It might have just been a little nicer but a lesson learned the hard way was more fun. Yet some voice inside me nagged at me that it was something more.

 Carefully I placed my wrapped food down in a hidden spot before approaching them.