"Please give me some money." A young boy begged.
He was coated with dirt, and you could see his dark skin through his tattered clothes. He stretched out a bowl to collect money, scampering to pick up the few crumpled notes that were thrown his way.
His eyes were sad, his frame weighed down by hunger and fatigue. But he continued to beg with one hand and clutch a little girl with the other. The little girl was also in tatters and it was safe to assume based on their facial resemblance that they were either siblings or related in a way.
He stretched forth his bowl once again and shook it. "Please, money."
Some boys his age passed by him, and one stopped. He looked on, hoping that some money would come forth, but the other guy just put his hand inside his mouth, brought out the gum he was chewing and stuck it inside his bowl. Then the boy burst into laughter and strode off.
The beggar boy's shoulders slumped. People treated him and his family like they weren't also humans, and even though such behaviour pained him so, there was nothing he could do about it. They would always be above him.
He looked up the street and noticed that once again a figure stood leaning against a building. The person was covered up so he couldn't tell which gender it was, and he couldn't ever see the person. But almost everyday the person stood there and watched him beg. Was it a sort of satisfaction or a source of pleasure for the person? He couldn't tell, but what he could tell was that it was beginning to creep him out.
He would have reported such a situation to the police, but they would never listen to someone of his social standing.
His thoughts got disrupted when someone bumped into him.
He looked away from the figure, startled, only to find himself having to steady a young girl about his age on her feet, his bowl of money clanging to the floor.
His little sister; Sewa, laughed in a carefree manner. Thinking it was a game of some sorts, she bent to pick up the money that was now scattered on the ground.
He however still had his hands on the girl's waist, looking down at her.
She mumbled a "thanks" just as she looked up at him, her eyes widening when she did. She jumped away from him, disgust crossing her face. Her friends crowded round her.
"Oh my gosh! Did you just touch me?!"
He looked at her, confused. Of course he touched her, but only to help her. If he hadn't, she would have fallen.
She began to dust her body. "Oh my gosh. I feel filthy."
"What's wrong, Ara?" One of her friends asked.
Ara? Her name was Ara?
Up until now, he'd never noticed that her friends had also been standing there all along.
"This–this dirty beggar had the guts to touch me!" She pointed at him.
Her friends looked over at him, and he saw them wrinkle their noses at him.
"Not only dirty, but smelly too." One of them remarked.
His heart sank with every word they uttered, but he wouldn't ever cry or show them how much their words hurt. He knew it was all a matter of privilege that they were born rich and he was born poor, for no one ever chose their birthplace, their birth parents, or their birth status.
No one.
His little sister grabbed his hand and looked up at him, handing the bowl back to him, albeit in a lopsided manner. "Pawdey, take."
YOU ARE READING
Awaiting Her Beau
Spiritual"Do you have anything to say?" He shook his head, but never shifted his gaze from her face. "Well then, what do you want?" She snapped, tired of his incessant staring. He shook his head again, still remaining speechless. She sighed. "Is there someth...
