The Raven

Chapter Three

London is big.

Big enough to hold millions of people. People who look at me weirdly as I walk past them - all they see is a  cold, confused teenage girl in a white, hospital gown and a faded green hoodie.

I have no idea where to go. I stop when I pass an old man selling dates, as if realising that I have nowhere else to go. The people around me are not happy with this change and push past me, grumbling about being late for mum's birthday party. I move to the side, to give the others some space to walk, and then lean against a cold brick wall that belongs to a shut down hardware store in exhaustion. I wrap my arms around myself, sniffing - sliding down the wall into a sitting position. The smell of taxis and rain drifts to my nose. I can hear the voice of men and women rushing around the place, talking into their phones or to each other. Turning my head to the left, I look at the old man with the dates. He gives me a toothy grin and lifts the plate of dates as if offering me one. I smile weakly at him - the last thing I need, charity from a beggar. But I don't refuse the dates. Taking one, I smell it first, pressing in onto my lips - the taste almost wanting to escape through to my mouth.

I finally devour it when I see the old man staring at me. It tastes nice - almost like honey. I spit out the seed onto my palm - gnawing around the edge for more. I am about to throw the seed into the bustling crowd when I hear a grunt. The old man is holding out his hand, looking at me as if he wants something, but what? Money? Surely, he knows that I have none. "What?" I ask him.

"The seed," he coughs, having to raise his gruff voice in order to be heard over the active sounds of London.

"Oh," I blink, surprised. I hand over the seed, earning a grin. "You know you wouldn't be able to plant that," I shout at him. He shrugs, wrapping the blankets tighter around his seedy body.

"I like to try," he pauses, looking out to the crowd, a distant look on his dirty face. He looks back at me, his pale blue eyes standing out from his grimy face. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Come with you?" I ask, frowning. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, shuffling slightly away from him.

"It's no good staying out here, child. I know a bit of town where everyone without a home spends the night; they're all very kind there. They have food. Hot chocolate and soup tonight!" My stomach churns at the sound of food. I think about the offer, all my red alarms were sounding. Never follow strange old men around, never accept their offers, who knows what he is planning? What dirty little thoughts he has up in his head. But before I know what I'm doing, I nod.

"Alright," I agree, immediately regretting my words. "Let's go."

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

I'm slightly disappointed when all I see is a couple of cardboard boxes scattered around in a wide alleyway. But what else do I expect? This is only a gathering for the poor, surely I can't expect much from it . I walk down the dark alley, seeing the battered cardboard boxes growing bigger by every step I take. I can spot a woman further away, a bowl in her hand. I turn to look towards the old man who limps silently beside me - the layers of blankets still covering him. I stand a while from him, always keeping a weary eye on him. Sniffing, I plunge my hands deeper into Nat's pockets. Nat.

What was he talking about? Discipulus diaboli? What did that even mean? I'm sure it was Latin, by the way he said it. Disci - it means discus, I think. But what about the rest of the word? I bite back a yell of anger that is threatening to escape my lips. I can smell soup. But it is mixed with a rather horrible smell of rot. Oh well, at least there's the soup.

I look at the old man for guidance, but he looks ahead of him, straight at the woman who is bent over the little clay bowl. He smiles gently at her, a smile that shows love and care. I don't know how I know that, but I do. The old woman looks up, her grey hair up in a messy bun with strands flowing down the pointy shape of skeleton-like her face. I feel sorry for her, what did she do to deserve a life like this? Her sickly yellow face breaks into a huge smile at the sight of the old man.

The old man rushes forwards, forgetting the layers of blankets that cover him, leaving them in a huddle behind him. I lean down and pick them up, keeping an eye on what is happening ahead of me. The old man and the woman are in a tight embrace, as if nothing in the world mattered to them at this very second. I can't help but to smile softly at the pair - standing up and taking only a few steps towards the happy couple.

They, finally, finish their greeting and turn towards me. The woman, I realise supports a strange colour in her eyes; a light purple with specks of aqua blue. I can't help being impressed at the tone, and stare at her eyes for a while before tearing my eyes away. The man looks at the woman - who stares at me in the eye. "Tracy, I brought her here to stay," the woman nods, but her gaze is still fixed on me. "She is very hungry and cold. I felt sorry for the thing- so I thought food might cheer her up. Especially your food." The woman smiles when she hears the latter and lets her head fall gently on the old man's bony shoulder.

"Yes," I chip in. "I'll be an angel if you just let me stay. Just for a bit. I promise won't cause any trouble." The woman closes her eyes, as if not processing my words. I'm faintly wondering why she isn't answering me; I can't be that bad. I look at the man, he says nothing. But he eventually speaks.

"Tracy can't speak I'm afraid," he gulps, his eyebrows furrowing together. "She's mute." There is a silence.

"Oh," I say, then not sure what else to say. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he snaps back sharply. I'm taken back - Tracy must have seen it in my face because she nudges the man, then frowns at him. He sighs. "I'm sorry," he says reluctantly. "Sorry, I never introduced myself - my name is Mark," Tracy seemed to think that was enough and slitters out of Mark's arms and goes back to her pot; where she continues to stare at its contents. Mark gives a sad smile then looks back at me. "You must be very tired," he states. I nod.

"Very, sir," I say. Mark looks back at Tracy.

"I think that that's enough, love," he addresses Tracy. "Feed the poor girl, will you?" Tracy looks up mildly; she nods.

<<<<<<>>>>>>>

I stare at my empty bowl, wishing grandly that I could have some more. Blankets surround me as I sit in my given box. It's large, big enough for three people, according to Mark. But what else did I want? A mansion? A Jacuzzi? When I asked Mark about showers, he told me that they only washed in the rain, and sometimes went to the homeless shelter if they really stunk. When I ask about clothes - he said that for children under the age of 16, they bought two pairs of clothes a month. But for over 16s, they only bought one pair every two months. He had said that they rarely wash clothes and only go to the launderettes when they save up really hard, and again only for special occasions. Mark said that he hated asking for charity, and his little community were getting by well. He had even gone to the council to secure their living area.

The only way to get money was to sell cleaned up bits of junk that people had thrown out, to sell food and flowers that they grow or to beg (but this was highly frowned upon). I put my chipped bowl to the side and curl up into my pillow, drawing the blankets securely over me.

When they had asked my personal details, I had none to give - so they think that I need to see a doctor and am very ill, I managed to argue my way out a trip to the hospital. Outside, I can hear the shouts and screams of children playing football; I pray dearly that the ball doesn't go through my box.

Mark thinks that I'm around 16. So that's what I'm going to think. They've also given me a name - May Clove. That's an alright name, I don't mind it too badly. Tracy chose it - she wrote it down on the pavement with stick of chalk.

Mark says that I have to help sell flowers tomorrow, even if they think that I am ill. Everyone needs to be doing something to help out. Mark is going to issue me with a new set of clothes, wanting to give my hospital gown to an elder. But I pleaded to keep Nat's jacket, it's warm and I feel comforted when I hold it close to me. I only knew Nat for a couple of minutes, but I feel like I've known him for my whole life.

I yawn, stretching. I'm going to get dressed up tomorrow, to actually look like someone. May Clove. 16 years of age. Parents... well that's what I'm going to try to find out next. 

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