Confused, good. I was too when I died. Honestly, justice for the poor is weak. Weak just like the amount of kindness we share between one another. 'Friendship' is foundered off with betrayal, iced with jealousy, topped off with disgust and sprinkled with anger. Of course there is the other side, happiness, joy, trust, love... but there is no 'other side' for the poor, for me. In my world, friendship meant death, and only death.
Well I've not been chatty like this for a long while. It's nice, I suppose. Speaking of which, I have a lot of time on my hands. Enough time to tell a story, my story. Will you listen to it? Believe me it's not that boring. Who knew you could squish so much tragedy and sorrow into one small life, I didn't. So, will you? Will you listen?
It was January 6th 1954, a little, underweight baby girl was born.
I wouldn't cry or scream, any mothers dream. However, I had many close to death experiences as my mother didn't know when I was hungry, upset or choking because of this. I would just sit there suffering the consequences. My mother got abducted and declared dead when she was found in a ditch, somewhere on the outskirts of the village. Leaving me, a small four year old bundle practically homeless. I don't have a father but even if I did, he wouldn't deserve the right to be my father, not after walking out on my mother and me, just like that.
Living in the world of poverty is hard for an adult, never mind a homeless toddler. For the first few days, I sat behind an abandoned large, rusty bin with the lid leaning against an old oak tree to shelter myself from the icy wind. My only companion was a torn teddy bear that my mother gave to me when I was born. I cradled that bear from dusk till dawn, swaying my body slightly out of boredom. Even as a toddler, I knew the dangers that lay ahead.
YOU ARE READING
A pest that lives in the shadows
General FictionCriminals were always seen as thieving law breakers in the history of humanity. However, do we consider what's on their side of the story?
