Diverse ➾ J.b

The little boy.

Chapter 1

     I took a glance to my right and ran my eyes sadly over the homeless. They sat on curbs or on park benches with cardboard signs asking desperately for money. Some were exhausted children with ragged clothes and others were overworked adults that wore just the same, and it broke my heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clutched my binder tighter against my chest in attempt to ease the heartache I felt at the sight. My entire chest burned as I forced myself to turn around, not wanting to see it anymore. When I opened my eyes again I was met with the rich side of town; yet I didn't want to see that either. Everything was so diverse, there was no such thing as an in-between. If you were born into the rich you got automatic wealth and respect without lifting a finger. But if you were born into the poor, well it was quite the opposite. But I wouldn't know exactly what it's like being part of the poor, because I had been born to the rich.

Many people would consider me lucky, but I considered myself cursed. Not because I was born to the rich but because I was simply born at the wrong time. If I had only been alive back in the 2500's I could have experienced a taste of normality. Things would be different, and people wouldn't be suffering by chance. Everyone would have an equal opportunity to succeed without boundaries. A concept that only lived for a short time.

But instead I was born into a world where if you weren't born rich, you weren't aloud to ever become rich. You could work for 18 hours a day in hopes of becoming higher in society to only be knocked down when the government raids everything you own and takes every cent you made for trying to make more than 10 dollars a day.

I rushed to the stocky glass door of my family mansion, feeling completely upset as I shifted everything I carried into one hand. I successfully used my free one to turn the cold knob and shove the heavy door open. A loud annoying ding flooded through the house upon my arrival.

"Hello honey." My mother greeted me immediately in the poshest voice you could think of, almost sounding british-like even though we lived in Canada. I followed her voice into the kitchen and almost gaged at the fake in her kindness.

"Wheres papi?" I asked not meeting her posh tone while dropping my binder on the granite countertop.

"Hes in the office with a client." she said while instructing a homeless to wash the silver plates. She pointed rudely and snapped her fingers at the boy who couldn't be any older than fourteen.

"You don't need to do those." I smiled politely and dismissively. I then grabbed the dish out of his hand and began washing them myself. The little boy hesitantly looked back and fourth between me and my mother. Slowly walking towards the exit of the kitchen.

"Acacia Clennings, the rich don't do dishes." She scolded snapping her fingers again to stop the boy from leaving through the door. He paused with wide eyes and fixed his posture.

"Now you are to let this boy do the dishes, and I will be back later this evening." She said turning, her heels clicking as she walked across the floor. I rolled my eyes when the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the house. Fuck you too.

The boy then walked to my right and reached out his hand to grab the dish in mine but I pulled it back before his hand gripped around it.

"Are you hungry?" I asked looking at the skinny boy.

"I-I am not aloud to have your food." He said gulping down temptation.

"Don't be silly." I smiled opening the fridge and taking out a perfectly made turkey sandwich.

"Do you like turkey?" I questioned

"Yes" he looked hungrily at the sandwich.