Sinful || H.S.

2

16th June, 2022

Another cloud of smoke blows from my cigarette as I exhale deeply, enjoying the calmness washing over me, drag after drag.

I stretch backwards, lying comfortably on my self-made bed of piled up cardboard, continuing to draw on my cigarette and watching passers by walk their dog or yell at a relative on their brand new Blackberry's.

After a while, I stub the remnants on the sidewalk and place my arms above my head, resting on them casually while pedestrian watching.

People continue to walk by; some gazing at me, eager to see if I am one of those stereotypical 'crazys', while others simply pretend like homeless people do not exist in the town of Berkton.

Unbothered by their ogling - or lack thereof - I stand up and brush the ashes of the cigarette off my dusty, black sweatpants. The specks fly around before landing in the jar I had placed for the I-like-to-spend-daddy's-money people when they were feeling extra generous.

Bending down at an odd angle so as to prevent exposing my bare bum to the world because of the giant tear my sweatpants are sporting, I retrieve the jar and my fingers sieve through the coins.

Within a few seconds, an exasperated sigh leaves my body as I count only six precious dollars and fifty cents have made their way into the cheap cullet.

I glare at the few strangers who are taking a stroll down the road, angry at the general public for the dearth of money in my pocket.

I pull out three one dollar coins and seal the jar shut, placing it inside a small compartment in the corrugated cardboard mountain I had created. Rule number 1 of living on the streets: never leave money or clothes out in the open.

I had to learn that the hard way. Supplies I had stolen were gone within seconds because of how naïve I was.

Looking left and right to make sure no onlookers noticed what I did, I stand up to my full form and start walking down the road, towards the cheap Chinese restaurant at the Bull and Eyre intersection.

After a satisfying three dollar meal comprising greasy spring rolls, an overly spicy chilli sauce and stale kimchi, I thank Mrs. Xi, the old owner of the store, who was sitting behind the counter with an unfaltering smile on her face.

The bell of the restaurant chimes as I exit, leaving behind the smell of burning oil and garlic that lingered in the air.

I head downtown, not wanting to crawl into my corner just yet.

I love walking around aimlessly. Inspite of having lived here for three years now, I am still not aware certain parts of Berkton. That is why I enjoy going on mini adventures after supper and exploring every nook and cranny of this surprisingly large town.

Thirty minutes into the walk and the soles of my shoes begin to squeak against the tar ground. I groan as I peer down at the Nike's I skilfully nicked from a ten year old boy three weeks ago. They're starting to wear out already.

And yes I have the foot size of a ten year old, sue me.

Making a mental note to do my monthly stealing spree soon, I continue wandering curiously. I frequently go through the alleys of Madison in hopes of discovering something new, and today I was feeling more audacious than usual.

I follow the steep road, going uphill towards God knows where. I continue trudging through the rocky path, ignoring the burning in my thighs due to the vigorous exercise. After a good fifteen minutes of following the trail, I reach the top of what I assume is a hill and gaze at the openness in front of me.

Lo and behold the most gorgeous and scenic view.

I see the sun fall behind the horizon, the yellow and orange hues colouring the sky turn into a faint pomegranate pink. The cawing crows and cooing pigeons dot the sky, rushing to get back home with their flapping wings.

Home. A word that sounds so foreign to me, yet for some reason I crave it. I crave to have that feeling of belonging.

A strong gust of wind blows, sending shivers down my petite body. My thoughts are cut short by the gale accompanying the arrival of twilight. Within five minutes, the sun is nowhere to be seen, and night beckons the twinkling stars to light up the sky.

Loneliness spreads through my body. I always wonder what it would be like to watch the sunset with a family. A real family; the love, acceptance and kinship it would offer.

I never knew my real parents. I've known the streets for as long as I can remember, with flashes of foster care drifting in and out of my mind, but never a clear picture of who I am and where I come from.

I shake the overpowering thoughts of my head and stand up. I tap the back of my pants aggressively, as if brushing off the dust would brush away the emptiness I feel inside.

I have to ignore my subconscious. This happens often, almost like a cycle. A wave of thoughts hit me and I spiral down a hole of 'what ifs', which gets me low.

Not in the mood to continue watching the shimmering diamonds in the sky, I push myself off the ground and take angry steps towards my cardboard bed.

Having been on the streets for almost ten years now, my sense of direction has improved significantly and I can navigate as well as a ship's captain.

It takes a long time before I reach Ige Street, popularly known as the 'Homeless Hub'.

It is considered dangerous and dirty because there are always homeless people loitering around but everyone mostly minds their own business and tourists know well enough to not be in this area post eight o' clock.

Quite frankly, I don't care what they think of me. If I let people's thoughts affect how I perceived myself, I'd be beaten down by now. There is way more to life than your outwardly appearance.

Humming to myself, I skip down the street, aching to rest my feet after today's long walk.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see a figure hunched over my bed, hungrily searching through my belongings that I so secretively stashed away in the compartment.

"Hey! Get out of there." I scream, breaking into a run towards the greedy bastard trying to steal my stuff.

His curly hair bounces on his head as he turns to face me, his expression matching a deer caught in headlights.

His fingers move faster trying to find something useful to him, until I see his hand grasping the jar with my valuable three dollars and fifty cents.

My pace quickens, my throbbing feet crying out in pain. However, I cannot stop. Three dollars would get me through another meal, something I had today after starving for almost two days.

I almost reach my corner, before the lanky boy briskly walks away from me, knowing fully well that his long legs can carry him faster than my ten-year-old-sized tiny ones could.

Realising that there is no point chasing something I have already lost, I yell in frustration at no one in particular before catching my breath on my comfortable cardboard bed.

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