Trellis

1

I feel terrible.

I always do. I dig a pizza box out of the trash can. My stomach gives another grumble. From the smell, there's still a few slices in the box. I tuck it under my arm and go home.

The street children stare at me with large, dark eyes set in malnourished faces. I hold the pizza box closer. On bad days, they'll try to take whatever piece of food you have on your person from you. I can't afford that. I've eaten almost nothing today, and I really need to keep running.

Back in the shack by the cemetery, I eat a scrumptious dinner of three cold pizza slices. But at least they threw a packet of chilli flakes in. Squinting, adjusting my glasses, I try to read the words on the screen. My eyesight is deteriorating; I have to get a new lightbulb soon. Moving my current one into a better position, I start typing.

Arcadian officials are stupid enough to put personal information of themselves online. Tonight I target the Head of Security. We've been on bad terms since I discovered the Internet. He's the reason I learned to do all this, to get past whatever protections a website may have. Hopefully, he'll be packing his bags and leaving Arcadia in a month. 

Most teachers will have you believe that wars are fought on battlefields. Mine, however, is between lines and lines of script, where I take my revenge on all those who have made my life hell, and all those who have stood by and watched while they did so. I have a hit list; I'm almost halfway through it. With any luck, I'll complete it before I starve to death.

There's always some dirt on a person. You just have to know where to dig for those pieces of information that were never meant to be broadcasted. 

Settling into my chair, I start the battle.