Sorrow's Story

“What are we doing?” Nathan asked trying to catch up to me.

“Well it actually what I’m going to do today, I’m hunting,” I corrected him.

“For what?” he laughed humorlessly.

“Danger,” I stated smirking.

“Why?” He asked, confused.

“Do you honestly think that I sit around on my butt all day, waiting for something to happen?” I glared at him.

“Isn’t that what you people do?” he accused.

I stopped, “’You people’?” I repeated appalled.

“Yes, you know, ‘homeless’,” he explained, like I was a child.

“You talk about us like we’re below you,” I spat, “Open your eyes, Nathan. Do you think any of us choose to live like this? Do you think that any of us want to be reduced to beg for our food? Poverty is no joke, Nathan. Poverty is everywhere, in every city, in every state, in every country, and it’s spreading. For most of us, things aren’t sent to us on a silver platter. Just because I don’t wear designer clothes, or put a mask on my face that makes me look plastic, does not mean I’m any different from you.”

“I work for my stuff,” he argued standing in front of me.

“Name one thing that you bought on your own, or that you actually worked for.”

He was quite.

“Exactly,” I rolled my eyes, “You Riches are so predictable.”

“’Riches’? Now who’s being judgmental?” he accused.

I scoffed, “I haven’t met a Richie that I like.”

“Well then you haven’t met that many of us,” he explained leaning against a light post.

I smiled humorlessly, “I grew up around people like you, and all of them are the same. Don’t accuse me of not knowing what their like. They are all soulless, mindless things that flaunt their money, their houses and their cars.”

“You… were rich?” he looked at me dumbfounded.

“Is that so hard to believe?” I brushed past him, eyeing the graffiti along the brick walls, following it.

“Yeah,” I could hear him try to catch up to me, “But how did you end up like this?”

“I guess you could say, I went through a rough patch,” I stated bitterly.

“Why don’t you go to your parents or something?” he said it like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Because, Nathan, I don’t want nor need to rely on them or their money. I am handling this just fine. And I don’t know where they are and they don’t know where I am, and I would love to keep it that way.”

“You don’t like them,” he guessed.

“I hate them, actually,” I corrected, “I hate them more than anything, and I don’t like a lot of things.”

He was silent for a moment, “But don’t you need shelter, or food, or clothing?”

“There are hundreds of people who are in worse positions than I am, I don’t like to take donations or go to a shelter. If they want to give me money or a place to stay, they can give it to someone who needs it more.”

“B-,” he started.

“Just shut up, I don’t need your pity,” I shushed him, “Now be quite and do what I say, or you won’t ever talk again.”

“Are you serious?” he asked laughingly.

“Completely,” I told him flatly.

I looked at the walls tracing the designs painted on them, meaningless words and symbols that a person left there as a warning.

“What exactly are we searching for?” he looked at me confused.

I spoke only one word, “Gangs.”