The Price of Freedom

The Nightmare That Came True

(Gale)

I ran down the street and turned into a dark alley, my bare feet slapping on the sun-warmed concrete. Behind me, I could hear the boots thudding on the pavement, closer and closer...I stopped suddenly. There was no way out! The shouts and footsteps came closer. Quickly I slipped into a crack between two high, brick walls, only moments before five soldiers burst into the alley. I carefully moved further back into the crevice, hardly daring to breathe.

"Where is he, the little thief!" One of them cried angrily, "Wait 'til I catch him, I'll beat him black and blue!"

"He'll know not to steal from us again!" Another man growled, "What does he think we are? Idiots?" I swallowed nervously. The men stared around the empty alley.

"He's not here." Someone said finally, "Jack! You said he came this way!"

"I thought I saw him." Jack murmured nervously, "I guess I was wrong."

"I guess you were." The other man told him, scowling.

"Oh stop your bickering." The first man, presumably the Captain, snapped, "He's not here, that's for sure. Come on men, let's check the next street."

The others mumbled assent and obediently followed their leader. Their footsteps faded.

I breathed a sighed of relief and carefully pulled myself out of the crack. Hiding a smirk, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my prize. Two large loaves of bread, warm and golden brown. My stomach growled. How long since I'd last eaten, I wondered? Two days? Three? It didn't matter. Soon I'd get a meal. I just had to find them.

Quietly I slipped out of alley and into the warm, afternoon sun. About two blocks down was another alley. This time though, it wasn't empty. There were children, of all ages, slumped against the dirty brick walls or running through the dusty street pushing and shoving each other. They gazed at me with large, hungry, sunken eyes as I walked past. Their torn and dirty rags were too small for them. They were all bone-skinny. None of them had parents. These were the Wheeler Street kids.

Small, snotty-nosed toddlers clutched the hands of their older siblings. If they were lucky enough to have them. Like me, these children had spent their entire lives living on the streets. They were all poor. They were all hungry. They all wanted a better life.

Biting back a twinge of guilt, I shoved the loaves of bread under my shirt and walked past them, hoping they wouldn't notice the strange lumps. Some of these children may have been hungrier than I was, but there was one thing I'd learnt from my ten years of living in the streets; there is no room for compassion.

When you're an orphan, it's every child for themself. Most of these kids were like me, they'd lost their parents, been kicked out of the orphanage, many of them had turned to stealing as a way of survival. We couldn't help it. We had no other choice. It was a hard life. But it was nice to know I wasn't the only kid who got too hungry to be good.
I kept my eyes lowered and continued walking past the Wheeler Street kids, past the old trash cans or cardboard huts most of the children were forced to call 'home'. The sights, sounds and smells, little starving three-year-olds, crying babies, trash can fires, would be enough to shock any wealthy family. But no one, except the Twilight Gang out for blood, Jimmy Renalds looking for revenge or the palace soldiers looking for a young troublemaker, ever came here. We were hidden, cut off from the outside world. Hunger, mud, sickness. The air reeked of despair. This was a place of suffering.

Some of these kids didn't even know how other people lived. I've met seven year olds who thought this was how everyone lives. Hiding from thieves, trying to steal what little we have, yet being thieves ourselves. I don't want to tell them the truth. It's not.

My parents died when I was four. I know. Even though I was only little I remember those days. Evenings spent around the warm fire, laughing at dad's stories. Mornings playing in the streets, with the other children. Warm clothes, a loving family, enough to eat. I was a perfectly happy four-year-old boy. Until that day.

I don't remember exactly how it happened. I just remember the man in black, who pulled the trigger. The shot that rang out. My mother's scream. Dad crying over her, begging her to stay with him. I remember Mrs Acres from next door hugging me, telling me it was all okay. The police siren. Mrs Acres pulling me away from the house.

"Let me go!" I had cried, tears streaming down my face, "I want my Mummy and Daddy! Where are they?" She wouldn't respond. No matter how hard I try I still remember that day. I can't forget. At night I still wake up screaming. Yelling, begging the man in black not to shoot. The next moment I'm siting bolt upright, in a pile of rags, drenched in cold sweat. It's just a nightmare, I tell myself. Then I remember...it is a nightmare. But a nightmare that came true.

Finally I reached the end of the alley and there, standing away from the other kids' 'houses' is a small tent made of plastic sheets, cardboard and scrap metal. Home. The word makes me angry. We shouldn't be here. None of us should. We shouldn't be starving. We shouldn't be hiding from the dangers lurking around every corner. We shouldn't be living on the streets.

I clenched my fist. At the end of the day, I know there's nothing I can do. Fate decides. Not me. And fate decided to murder my parents. Fate decided to dump me and my sisters on the street. Fate decided to half starve us, throwing every danger possible into our path, bullies, bandits, floods, sickness. And yet fate let us survive.
I slipped up to the tent and pushed the flap open, evoking a squeal from one of the people inside.

"Gale!" Jade cried, before breathing a sigh of relief, "it's only you."

I pretended to look offended. "Only me?" I fished the bread out. "I got you something."
Her eyes lit up and she turned and shook Cleo who was scribbling something on a piece of damp and crumpled paper. "Cleo! Gale stole some food."

"Huh?" Cleo looked up, "Really? I'm starving."

We're all starving, I wanted to say but stopped myself and said instead, "Yeah, so am I. Let's eat."

Carefully we broke the two loaves into three equal pieces and the twins wolfed theirs down. It pained me to see them so hungry but what could I do? Nothing except..."Do you guys want mine?" I asked, "I'm not hungry."

Cleo and Jade looked up. "You're not?"

Deep down inside, I was almost hoping they wouldn't want my bread. Then I cursed myself for being so selfish. There may be no room for compassion but surely there was room for love. "Yeah I'm fine. I, uh, ate earlier." It was a bad lie but the twins seemed satisfied and moved forward to eat my share. I watched them with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Thanks Gale." Cleo said, her mouth full. Jade nodded in agreement.

I forced a smile. "No problem." I guess I'm going to bed hungry tonight, I thought before I could stop myself. Again.