What to Love and What to Burn
Two
I was sixteen without a home. Without a job. I stole from people. I told stories, I made stories up and I lied. I lied so much that my life was always a lie. I sold the bike for twenty dollars. Enough to buy a jacket and some food.
I slept under park benches, and in empty alleyways. I met other, older people that taught me how to steal from people. How to look like I needed pity. I didn't want pity though. I didn't want charity. But I needed it. I needed it to live.
"Oh look at her."
"She's on the streets."
"Timmy stay away form that dirty, dirty girl!"
"Mommy look! She looks like the girl I saw on the TV!"
Everyone always looked at me. Made a comment. Like they've never seen a homeless girl before. There were plenty here.
Here. Where was I? It doesn't matter where I was. I was in many places. I was near parks I was near supermarkets and roadside stands. They all had the same opinion of me so I didn't care. They all thought I would never get off. They all thought I would die in a matter of time and they'd see my body on the news. I could see it now, on the front of the newsstand.
Homeless Girl's Body Found...read more on page 45
I laughed a little at those jokes. I made up stories in my head. I told them to five year olds at the playgrounds. I told them many things, I told them anything that would come to my mind until their parents, or maybe their siblings came over and screamed at me. All I ever did was walk away. It didn't affect me.
"Was she purple?"
"What was her name?"
"Whoa a big fire?"
They all asked loads of questions. They didn't care that I was covered in dirt and grime. They were five, they liked that sort of stuff. I liked the younger kids. It was the older kids that I chose to stay away from.
"Dirty little girl!"
"Where's your mommy Homeless?"
"What're you doing Homeless? Making yourself a cardboard box home?"
That was my nickname. Homeless. No one cared what my real name was. They'd punch me, kick me, throw me into pools where then I would get yelled at for being on someone's property. They pushed me around, and I let them. I knew most of them by face, but I knew some of their names. Whenever a new kid came they'd be introduced with a kick and a punch. Maybe even with a push against a wall. Never a name.
Avalon! I wanted to scream. My name is Avalon!
They wouldn't listen though. They wouldn't care. It was all just a load of crap to them. I was just someone under them on the human food chain. They didn't care. Even the geeks and nerds were higher than I was. I was nothing. I was at the way bottom.
Rarely were adults nice to me. Every once and a while I'd get an older woman giving me a five dollar bill telling me to go buy something. Every once and a while I would get another homeless person taking pity on me and taking my into their bonfire that they made in the vacant alleyways. That's when I watched it all burn.
I threw anything I didn't need into the fire. I watched it change to ash and I smelled the fire burning it into a crisp. It was relaxing. I get called a freak for saying that, whenever I tell people that. They say I shouldn't like the smell of things burning. They say I shouldn't get an adrenaline rush from watching it all go away.
When did I ever listen to them anyway? I never did and I wasn't going to start now. So why care? Why would they tell me this when they know I won't listen. They might just want to tell me that to remind me. Didn't matter to me any.
My favorite place was the playgrounds. Under the slides and on the swings. I go on the swings at two in the morning and just smile. I'd swing and I'd laugh. I'd actually have fun. No one saw. Every once and a while I would be joined by someone. Sometimes it was a crying girl who's boyfriend just broke up with them, or sometimes it was another homeless person who would laugh with me. Otherwise, no laughing, no smiling, just a grim face, an emotionless face.
Every day was the same.
I slept under park benches, and in empty alleyways. I met other, older people that taught me how to steal from people. How to look like I needed pity. I didn't want pity though. I didn't want charity. But I needed it. I needed it to live.
"Oh look at her."
"She's on the streets."
"Timmy stay away form that dirty, dirty girl!"
"Mommy look! She looks like the girl I saw on the TV!"
Everyone always looked at me. Made a comment. Like they've never seen a homeless girl before. There were plenty here.
Here. Where was I? It doesn't matter where I was. I was in many places. I was near parks I was near supermarkets and roadside stands. They all had the same opinion of me so I didn't care. They all thought I would never get off. They all thought I would die in a matter of time and they'd see my body on the news. I could see it now, on the front of the newsstand.
Homeless Girl's Body Found...read more on page 45
I laughed a little at those jokes. I made up stories in my head. I told them to five year olds at the playgrounds. I told them many things, I told them anything that would come to my mind until their parents, or maybe their siblings came over and screamed at me. All I ever did was walk away. It didn't affect me.
"Was she purple?"
"What was her name?"
"Whoa a big fire?"
They all asked loads of questions. They didn't care that I was covered in dirt and grime. They were five, they liked that sort of stuff. I liked the younger kids. It was the older kids that I chose to stay away from.
"Dirty little girl!"
"Where's your mommy Homeless?"
"What're you doing Homeless? Making yourself a cardboard box home?"
That was my nickname. Homeless. No one cared what my real name was. They'd punch me, kick me, throw me into pools where then I would get yelled at for being on someone's property. They pushed me around, and I let them. I knew most of them by face, but I knew some of their names. Whenever a new kid came they'd be introduced with a kick and a punch. Maybe even with a push against a wall. Never a name.
Avalon! I wanted to scream. My name is Avalon!
They wouldn't listen though. They wouldn't care. It was all just a load of crap to them. I was just someone under them on the human food chain. They didn't care. Even the geeks and nerds were higher than I was. I was nothing. I was at the way bottom.
Rarely were adults nice to me. Every once and a while I'd get an older woman giving me a five dollar bill telling me to go buy something. Every once and a while I would get another homeless person taking pity on me and taking my into their bonfire that they made in the vacant alleyways. That's when I watched it all burn.
I threw anything I didn't need into the fire. I watched it change to ash and I smelled the fire burning it into a crisp. It was relaxing. I get called a freak for saying that, whenever I tell people that. They say I shouldn't like the smell of things burning. They say I shouldn't get an adrenaline rush from watching it all go away.
When did I ever listen to them anyway? I never did and I wasn't going to start now. So why care? Why would they tell me this when they know I won't listen. They might just want to tell me that to remind me. Didn't matter to me any.
My favorite place was the playgrounds. Under the slides and on the swings. I go on the swings at two in the morning and just smile. I'd swing and I'd laugh. I'd actually have fun. No one saw. Every once and a while I would be joined by someone. Sometimes it was a crying girl who's boyfriend just broke up with them, or sometimes it was another homeless person who would laugh with me. Otherwise, no laughing, no smiling, just a grim face, an emotionless face.
Every day was the same.