Smells Like Teen Spirit ﹡Deadly Class

1| STREET RAT

﹡

Marcus Lopez

FROM A VERY YOUNG AGE, MARCUS KNEW HE WOULD NEVER AMOUNT TO SHIT. He was the filthiest of scum, no one gave a shit about him, if he died right now, not a soul would give a damn, he was a street rat, and no one gave a damn if a street rat lived or died. If Marcus was being honest, he wished he were dead, nothing could be worse then slumming it on the streets.

Marcus reached a hand in his coat pocket, retrieving his pack of smokes, pulling out a cig lighting it, he puffed out smoke, looking up at the burned down building that was once his home—no not a home, you could hardly call Sunsets Boy's 'Home', a home, it was more like a prison, or Hell. Whoever said there was no Hell on earth, clearly didn't get out much.

Marcus let out a shudder, not from the cold, but the ghost sounds that rang through his head, he couldn't seem to shake the sound of screams out of his head. The screams rang through his head, like a cracking whip, he could still smell the smoke from the building, smell the burning flesh, that was probably a feeling he would never shake, the guilt.

Just as Marcus thought he was going to be sick, he caught glimpse of a cop car, creeping around the block, in search for him. He threw his hood over his mop of curls, walking swiftly in the opposite direction, tossing his cigarette bud.

Marcus walked and walked, because what the hell else was there to do? Marcus walked until the growling of his stomach became unbearable, finding a nearby trash can, he rummaged through it, looking for anything to eat, no one bothered him a glance as he retrieved a half eaten sandwich, scarfing it down.

Marcus slightly less hungry, made his way through an alleyway, climbing through the hole in the fence, going to the only place he could, the bridge, the bridge was a homeless camp, filled with scum just like him, it was the closest thing to a home he would ever get.

Marcus wasn't always scum, there was a time—a time so long ago, it almost felt like another lifetime, he had a loving mother and father, their relationship wasn't perfect, but at the time before they were killed, they were mending it, things were good, so good that Marcus believed that he could actually allow himself to be happy, what a silly, stupid naive thought.

Reagan cut funds to the mental health facilities, released hundreds of mentally ill onto the streets, including Barbara Salinger, a suicidal schizophrenic. 

Barbara Salinger, who made every fear Marcus ever had come true. Just like that, they were dead.

All Marcus ever wanted was the mundane shit everyone else took for granted, a warm meal every now and then, a safe place to sleep, somewhere to belong.