The Street Kids

The Streets

I walked down the old alleyway and stared at my old, ratty Converse. The pavement beneath me was littered with old cigarette buds, needles, and other trash. It was only my second day living on the streets, and yet I was already getting use to it. I became used to the foul smell of dumpsters, the graffiti painted on the old brick walls, and the fear that twisted in my gut as I prayed that no one would try to kidnap, or harm me. It was sick and twisted that I had become accustomed to it all. The police would rather bust people for speeding, than save a street kid from getting shot or raped. It was just another reminder of how cruel and unfair this world could be. The worst part about living on the streets was how other civilians witnessed you. Some would glare at us with a disgusted look on their face like it was our own fault that we lived this way, although most people just continued walking by pretending not to notice us. And of course there was the dirty perverts who tried to kidnap us.
  My stomach grumbled loudly and I sat down against the dirty brick wall, holding my abdomen. I hadn't eaten in two days. I wasn't sure if I would even survive another day. These morbid thoughts continued to run through my head until I heard someone calling me. I looked up and noticed a girl not too far from me ushering me toward her with a wave of her hand. I glanced at her appearance for a second and saw that she was wearing a ratty grey tank top, with a dirty red flannel tied around her unusually skinny waist, and ripped black jeans on. She wore messed up grey Converse, that looked much like my own and had long, wavy blonde hair in a loose side braid. I assumed she was a street kid like myself based off her ratty clothes, so I decided to approach her. My weak legs ached as I slowly walked toward her. Once I had gotten into an appropriate range for conversation, the girl began speaking to me.
"Hey, I noticed you walking around yesterday, you must be a street kid like me, yeah?" Her words were slurred and the smell of smoke and tobacco emerged from her mouth as she spoke. She was clearly a smoker, but I didn't blame her for smoking after having to live like this.
"Yeah." I replied still staring at the ground, my voice sounding much more disinterested than I was trying to make it. The girl didn't seem to mind though, as she knew what I was going through.
"I can tell you haven't eaten in awhile, kid. Here, take this."
I turned my gaze towards her grey-blue eyes and then down to her small, delicate hand, that was holding a protein bar.
"I know it's probably not the tastiest thing on the planet, but you look like you could eat anything right now." After a few moments of hesitation, I took the bar from her hand and slid it into my pocket.
"Thanks." I said, awkwardly giving her a small smile.
"No problem kid. By the way, my name's Katrina, but you can call me Kat, everyone does. And your name is?" I was puzzled at how much the gir- At how much Kat had been talking to me, but I decided since she had been kind enough to give me food, I could at least answer her questions.
"My names Bethany, you can call me Beth."
"Okay, Beth. So tell me, how long have you been living on the streets?"
"Today is my second day..." I looked back down at the ground trying to hide my sad expression.
"I'm sorry Beth. I know living on the streets ain't fun. I know how painful it can be, but if you want help, I can give it to you. I have a group of street friends and we watch each other's backs, give each other food, split money, stuff like that."
"W-wait isn't that like...a gang?" I asked.
"People like to put lables on us like that, but it ain't true. Nobody in our group gets hurt or hurts others, I know it sounds shady, but I promise it'll help." Kat's words sounded very convincing to me and after a moment of considering it, I decided to go with her. I was already living on the streets, I doubt things could get worse.