Sinful || H.S.

3

18th June, 2022

I step on the ground, putting out my third cigarette of the day.

My mind is whirling with ideas on how to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, but my money jar does not seem to be cooperating.

After Mr. Chestnut-Hair stole the three dollars I had intended on saving for yesterday's meal, all my plans for buying myself a delicious slice of cake went down the drain.

Speaking of that boy, he surprisingly came back yesterday, thinking he could get away with stealing my money again. The nerve.

Fortunately, my rumbling stomach prevented me from going on my daily venture so I was busy guarding my safe before he could even think about breathing near it.

Digging my fingers into the tiny glass jar, I start to count. Ten cents, fifty cents, ten cents, ten cents, fifty cents, five cents- rude- a dollar- kind- and fifty cents. Two dollars, eighty-five cents.

I 'hmph' in dissatisfaction. Combining yesterday's and today's money, I only have four dollars and thirty five cents. I won't even get half a slice of cake with this.

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful to everyone who gives me money, and if I could, I would get a job to fund myself. No one wants to employ a homeless, smelly person, though. Especially not a homeless, smelly person without the required qualifications.

Sighing, I rest my head against the cardboard headrest. My stomach growls loudly in anticipation. I look down at the skinny thing and pat it gently, "Sorry to disappoint you buddy, but no cake for you today. We are sticking to the usual spring rolls!"

Even at the thought of raw vegetables being over fried in a restaurant full of mice, tummy grumbles. Man, I must have been hungrier than I thought.

I shrug off my coat, storing it safely under the pile of cardboard, hoping it would hide my compartment. Hopefully, curly haired boy will take a hint and fuck off from my territory. If not, too bad for him. I've been told I throw some good punches.

Ambling down Bay, I swiftly jog across the pedestrian crossing, and enter my seventh heaven. The lady behind the counter smiles at me warmly, recognising me in an instant. Without having to ask, she places three rolls on a paper plate and hands it to me.

I pull out my coins and place it on the glass counter separating us. As she has done every 18th June for the past ten years, she pushes the money back to me, providing me with a free meal on this special occasion.

Ten years ago I had come in crying, holding a picture of my parents - or people who I assume were my parents - in a cracked photo frame. When I lived in the foster shelter, this was the only thing they had provided me with; a small clue about who my real parents were.

Upon escaping from the dreadful and dilapidated building, this was one of the only memoirs I carried with me.

While I bawled my eyes out and most definitely wet the entire table, she slid me a plate of these spring rolls and comforted me, shushing into my ear.

On that day, the realisation that I was truly alone in this world had struck hard, seeing as it was my first birthday without my anyone - even my orphan friends. The second year was much easier to bear, and today it is almost like my past has been erased from my life.

Of course, thinking about the fact that my parents decided to give me up still stings a little. At one point, I was determined to find out who they were and ask them why they had been so cruel; given up a child to a shitty system and left their daughter to live in the streets. However, given the lack of access I had to resources and minimal knowledge about them except this one photograph, it was close to impossible to find them.

I say was because I gave up on that idea a long time ago. I believe I'm better off not knowing them.

Pushing aside the depressing thoughts, I stuff my face with the authentic Chinese, smiling in appreciation at the benevolent lady behind the counter.

If I had one friend out on these lonely streets, it was her. Language barrier was hardly a problem for us, since all our communication was through hand gestures or our expressions. The only word ever uttered between us was 'birthday' the first day I came in.

I didn't need a real mother when I had this maternal figure in my life.

I glance at her yellow t-shirt, my fondness for the lady growing as I read the bold 'Treat People With Kindness' printed onto it.

After finishing the oily, yet delectable meal, I head back to my cocoon, ready to drop dead after an exhausting day of doing nothing.

My soft footsteps approaching my home don't seem to alert the juvenile mop of curls who is, once again, avariciously scrambling through my property.

I quicken my pace, nevertheless making sure to maintain the lightness of my feet. I creep behind him in the stealthiest way possible, until I know he will have nowhere to run.

That is when I decided to make my presence known.

My hands forcefully grab his hair and I push his head downwards, towards the bed, forcing him onto his knees.

"You." I spit venomously and proceed to turn this foolhardy boy around, to face me.

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Eep! I'm so excited!! I hope y'all are too<33 don't forget to vote/comment/share, please!