Sticks and Stones

How?

"Emily, please!" Mother nagged.
"This is my life, I'll do what I want." I remember screaming that to my mother as I slammed the door behind me. I never returned home after that.
So, I'm here alone, no money, no bed and I'm cold. I know my bed is waiting for me, but I shall never return back to that hell hole. I sit on a cold damp step in the blistering wind and the torrential rain, hoping for the warm sun to touch upon my cold blue hands.
"Do you have any chnge?" I ask, in my politest tone as the buisness men and women aviod me. Sometimes, there is a kind person who acknologes me, but 'never' has change. If I'm extremely lucky I may get 20p or 50p from the less busy people. I get about £2 a day, that could get me a drink and a sandwich if I'm lucky. It's all about luck on the streets.
It's raining heavier now, my long curly blonde hair, the same as my mothers is damp and almost a tone of brown. I'm cold and wet but there is no where to go. The streets are almost  empty at this time of night, I find myself a little doorway to lay down in. My bones ache and my head hurts from the solid, hard concrete floor. It hurts to move, so I lay still and tr to get some sleep; at least 2 hours should do. Soon, I am woken up by a bright light in my eyes, I blink rapidly to adjust my eyes, it's a flash light, the man holding the flashlight  is tall and chubby and wears a blue uniform, a police officer I realise.
"Come on, get up and move away" He orders whilst giving hand signals with a pionted finger towards the path.
I slowly rise to my feet, unbalanced and unfocused. I grab my spotty white back and pack away my red holey blanket that gives me a little bit of warmth but not as much warmth as my cosy bed, at home. "Stop it" I tell myself. "Stop thinking about home!" The people around me stare and i scurry away, as I always do.
The homeless people in London, where I am, try to keep themselves to themselves, I folow suit. It's difficult on your own sometimes, no one to talk to, no one to listen to you, don't get me wrong I like my personal space, but I miss Tommy alot, My little brother. The way he smiled and giggled, I miss that. So here I am, wondering the streets aimlessly, no where to go, no where to hide myself away.
As I take long strides along the coble road Isee someone I've seen before, a Less (Homeless Man/Woman), like me. He has a long scruffy beard which is a dull grey, dirty and wears a navy bluie trench coat and broken boots. I think about approaching, I think again. Heis a sad man but he appears intellegent, an Architect or Proffesor in his life before life on the streets, how could he be on the streets with a job like that?
I hear footsteps all around, but destinctly ones from behind  getting closer and closer and anxiety kicks in, my heart beat rises, a women brushes past past me and marches off into the distance. I find a spot to sit down on some steps that lead up to the natural history museum and start my daily questions. "Any change?".
Today, I managed to scrap up 2 pounds and 70 pence. I make my way across to the corner shopand buy a cheddar cheese sandwich and a bottle of water for 2 pound. I spend another 68 pence on a delicious Milkyway choclate bar, I love chocolate and it's not something I get very often due to limited funds.
I start to wonder if my family think about me or if I'm just a thing of the past and I will never be seen again. Tomorrow is my little brothers birthday, he must be about 8 now, I'vebeen living on the strrets for 2 years and nothing has changed except my age, I'm 17. It's the same routine everyday, get moved from a doorway, then find a spot to sit for 6 hours and try to get some money to survive, eat and finally sleep.
Sometimes I listen to the buskers on the street who share their own style of music. I sway to the cool beats and start to tap my feet then finally stop because I feel like an idiot. The music is relaxing and helps me to forget the things on my mind.
"When I'm older I want to be an English Teacher". I'd say that to my mum when i was young. That is an impossible dream now that I have to survive on the streets in the chill and the dark. I had become accustom to my situation about a month of living Less life. I just need to find something to do, I've thought about haning out 'The Big Issue' but I've seen them, the Less, failing to hand out many. I have also thought about finding a low paying job but I know I will be thrown out because I'm not suitably dressed for the job, I'TS ANNOYING! I know it's my fault for ending up on the streets but give me a chance, for crying out loud.
I make my way down Treasure Street, a little street and with kind people I've heard. The pavement is cracked and sweet wrappers and plastic bags cover the slabs, I approach a fork in the road, I turn left and stomp, tiredly down the road. My bag weighs a ton, I have to stop and rest, I find myself in an alley way and slumped against the wall, I'm hungry but I haven't collected any money but just when my belly starts to rumble a piece of paper rolls past like tumble weed and I run to catch it. Am I dreaming? Is it real? I hold it up to the sky, Queenies face appears! "It's Real!" I shout at the top of my lungs, a 10 pound note, it's mine. 10 pounds doesn't seem alot but it is to us Less folk.
I buy myself a chocolate bar, a sandwich and a bottle of water to keep me hydrated, that leaves me with 5 pounds and 23 pence. It's all about luck on the streets.

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Thank you for reading the first chapter of my new short story, Sticks and Stones. Hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed creating it. I also hope you were able  to follow the story line. :)