Realistic or Modern Are we? We are the waiting... Street Kids and Orphans

[Mad_Hatter]

This city is for the dogs. The poor are starving, the rich are ruling, and the children are suffering. But they don't have to.

We are the waiting. The children of the streets. A group of street kids, orphans, and otherwise disadvantaged children. We take care of each other. We help each other. We won't let ourselves be forgotten.

Rules:
Please be literate! It's a pet peeve of mine when people don't use proper English grammar.
Be polite!
Have fun!

CS thread:
Are we? We are the waiting... Street Kids and Orphans (CS)

 

[Mad_Hatter]

Hey, could you hold off on posting until we have enough people to start? doodlebob

 

[doodlebob]

anything 4 u Mad_Hatter

 

[Mad_Hatter]

Hey all! We're ready to start! You can begin posting!

 

[scorpiodragon]

It was a brisk autumn day. The temperatures were above freezing and the sky was partly-cloudy. New York was always a busy city, particularly at night as the drudges of society came out of the shadows and woodwork then, the buildings themselves lit up with neon lights and glaring signs over entrances detailing secrets and services to the masses of both local and tourists. The city that never slept and was one of the scariest cities out there for one a child who was an orphan or runaway, doing what needed to be done to live another day on the streets. In one of the hidden alleys, out of sight of the tourists that came from all over to visit the city, the college kids and international diplomats; there was the sound of a body hitting the brick wall and then the sound of said body sliding down the wall to lie at its base. A few coins and bills clattered onto the pavement and a figure walked off into the darkness, content for the time being and disappeared into the crowd.

Coughing out a mixture of blood and bile onto the ground in front of her, a pale hand reached out and grabbed the bit of money tossed near her face. Pain laced through the girl's side at the kick to her ribs, a kick that made it hard to get breath into her lungs. Slowly, the girl pulled her knees up under her, one hand clenching the few coins and bills tightly in a fist as she tried to relieve the pounding in her hear head. Blood glistened on the back of her head where her skull had bounced off the brick wall behind her. Gingerly touching a hand to her ribs she felt around them before lifting up her shirt slightly and attempting to inspect the damage done. A yellow and green bruise was already forming but she didn't feel any bones shifting around in there which was good. Couldn't go to the hospital anyway. They asked questions and she wasn't about to go back to her father or be separated from her brother. Her brother who had gotten sick on the journey here with a cold...he was the reason she was engaging in such illegal activities...activities that she would try to protect him from...though in the back of her mind she worried what would happen if she never came back.

Messy brown hair fell into and around the teen girl's face, hair that for the moment hid a black eye, and the red outline of a hand on her left cheek. Her brown eyes were pained yet under that they held a determination. Letting her shirt fall back down, hiding the bruised skin, Mahika slowly sat back until she was on her knees. Reaching out a hand to the blood-stained wall, she winched as she moved, using the wall to help herself off her feet and slipped the bit of money into the pocket of her ripped jeans before beginning to make her way on unsteady feet to the rundown home she and her brother were currently squatting in, each step being agony for the teen girl. (Open)

 

[eyflfla]

Sitting on a park bench, she eyes passersby with ill intent. Snot runs down her nose, greasy fingers smear it on shabby clothes. Mary is an older girl, not quite legal, and never would be, one way or another. A veteran warrior of the streets. She'd run afoul of a red light window washer earlier, gotten most of his cash, but he'd got her with the water.

Drying in the cold sun, she bitterly watches the silly school kids run. Soft, warm, full of hope and dreams, loved and cared for. Bitter jealousy leaves her feeling like a dead duck, cold and frozen, spitting out pieces of her broken luck. Across the green, in the cold, streaking, sun, she sees an old man walking lonely with his dog. She notices he's got a bum leg, it hurts him bad to pick up the dog's turd. He rounds a corner going down to a pond. Mary knows the path to twist, and be secluded for a moment. She moves her feet. Poor old sod, won't even see me. She wastes no more time on pity; She can still remember December's foggy freeze; and the frostbite she got last year -- screaming agony.

Mary slips up behind him, and slips a knife into him. The old man snatches his rattling last breaths with deep sea diver sounds. She drags the body into the bushes, to be found by a gardening crew in the spring. Or maybe the cops will find him before then. She didn't know and didn't much care. She loots his corpse quickly while the dog yips at her. She glances at it, mildly annoyed. Begrudgingly she grabs its leash and leaves the scene of the crime.

She idly thumbs the contents of the old man's wallet while considering how best to unload the dog. Not a lot of cash, pity, sometimes you find old folks who don't believe in cards. Of course it was a little late in the month to expect much out of the social security crowd. She finds a food stamp card that might pay dividends if she timed her cards just right.

She comes across a large crowd of people gathered for something or other. She doesn't care. She leaves the crowd with one less dog and a pocket full of something snatched from a purse -- it was important not to look right away, just keep going as if nothing happened.

Just keep walking. As if nothing happened.


********

The old man gets up from where he'd been shoved down by the homeless girl. He counts his blessings - she'd taken his wallet, but left him unharmed. Well, a fall could be fatal at his age, but a bush had slowed his fall. He wasn't sure if that was intentional on the mugger's part or not. When she first came upon him he'd feared for his life. There was something off about her. He'd offered up his wallet right away and she had taken it while seeming to stare right through him. There was something disquieting about her eyes, something wrong. He supposed living out on these streets would do that to a person. Well, she hadn't killed him, so there was that. He pulls out his phone to make the necessary calls, and limps away.