What to Love and What to Burn
Three
Every year on my birthday I would try to steal a cookie, or a cupcake, or maybe even a real cake and split some of it with the other homeless people in the alleyway near the park. My nineteenth birthday they stole it for me. They also got candles and a lighter.
A lighter.
I asked them if that could be my gift. The lighter. And they gave it to me and we lit the candles and had the cake. They even sang that corny happy birthday song. I haven't had that sung to me on a birthday since I was nine, ten years ago. They truly were the only people that cared and they will always have a special place in my heart.
That evening, in September, I took every leaf I could find and burned them. I burned them all into ashes. The fire from the lighter gave off an eerie orange glow. It reflected on the slide, and on my face. I pocketed the light at around four and finally settled down to sleep.
I never slept much. I couldn't sleep much at all. Some drunk rapist might get me, or some stray teenager might jack all the stuff I have, including the jacket keeping me warm. So when I woke up and the sun was out it was different. I came out form my 'home' and looked around me. Kids were laughing, and playing. I did see something different though. Another new teenager. I felt myself gulp, and I turned around, though I knew they would recognize me from the dirty, ripped jacket.
"Hey Homeless!" Their leader. The meanest of the mean. To everyone, not just me. I turned around, no use in hiding from something that will find you in a matter of seconds. No use in hiding from something that you can't really hide from. It's not like I could blend in.
"I'm talking to you." I felt a punch to the stomach. I'm surprised I'm not internally bleeding from how many times that's happened.
"We got a new kid on the block." Another punch. Introduced with a punch and a kick.
"Say hello to my little friend Homeless." A kick in the shin and when I felt to my knees someone grabbed hold of my chin and made me look up.
"Give it a try." He said, turning to his new friend. The kid looked at me unsure.
"Come on, it's not like she feels anything." A kick to the ribs, not hard, but hard enough to make me double over.
"That's a little mean." The kid said.
"Come on, it gets fun. You get used to it." A punch in the eye.
"No, you can. I can't do that to anything or anyone." The kid said taking a step back. The leader shook his head.
"Hey Homeless why don't you fight back?"
"Scared you won't win?"
Their insults were bad, but not the worst I've heard. I kicked one last time, and then felt nothing as I heard them walk away. I lay there clutching my stomach, trying to catch my breath. And when I did I got control of the pain and stood up, making my way to the swings to sit down.
Normal. That's all normal to me. I took my hand from my stomach and touched my eye, cringing when my fingers came in contact with an already forming bruise.
It's all normal, a normal day with a normal routine. It didn't make a difference. I had bruises and scars from every fight. Each of them I never put up one. I never fought back. One against seven wouldn't work out in my favor.
My friends came over. They didn't know my name either. No one did anymore. They knew my as 'the teen' or even 'Homeless' like the leader called me. I didn't know their names, frankly it didn't matter. Names don't matter here. Living does. Staying Alive.
It wasn't until a kid tapped me on the shoulder that I realized there was my usual group of five year olds in front of me. They came once every three days, and their parents talked to each other while I told them stories.
"Was there a dragon?"
"What was the prince's name?"
"Was he handsome?"
Of course the prince in shining armor was handsome. That's how it always is. That's how all the fairytales go. Princess gets kidnapped by an evil person and almost fed to a dragon and the handsome prince comes to save her. And he always succeeds. Never fails, never falters, never loses.
Fairytales are always happy. Sometimes I fit myself into a roll. Like Cinderella, sometimes I imagine I was Cinderella. I had a family, step-sisters, even if they were evil. A family. A home. A shelter.
And then the prince came with the glass slipper and he was the most handsome man I could ever think up. Flawless. Perfect.
But nevertheless that's always cliche. Sometimes when I made myself fit the roll I had the prince be an evil man, though still flawless all the same. But again, all cliche. To be honest my life is turning out to be the biggest cliche ever.
Girl loses her family. She ends up homeless. She has some sort of strong phobia, some sort of nightmare that comes to life and then she has some sort of fetish with something that has to do with the past. Then the handsome boy comes along and saves her.
No one can save me. Avalon, the nineteen year old girl loses her only family. You only get one. She's homeless, she loves fire, she has nightmares. The nightmares haunt her every time she shuts her eyes. She has a great fear of burning flesh. But so far no handsome boy to come along and save her.
That's my cliche life. I don't want a handsome boy to come save me. And if a handsome boy does come I won't let him save me. I don't want a cliche life. I want to be different. I don't want charity. I don't want pity.
I want to live.
A lighter.
I asked them if that could be my gift. The lighter. And they gave it to me and we lit the candles and had the cake. They even sang that corny happy birthday song. I haven't had that sung to me on a birthday since I was nine, ten years ago. They truly were the only people that cared and they will always have a special place in my heart.
That evening, in September, I took every leaf I could find and burned them. I burned them all into ashes. The fire from the lighter gave off an eerie orange glow. It reflected on the slide, and on my face. I pocketed the light at around four and finally settled down to sleep.
I never slept much. I couldn't sleep much at all. Some drunk rapist might get me, or some stray teenager might jack all the stuff I have, including the jacket keeping me warm. So when I woke up and the sun was out it was different. I came out form my 'home' and looked around me. Kids were laughing, and playing. I did see something different though. Another new teenager. I felt myself gulp, and I turned around, though I knew they would recognize me from the dirty, ripped jacket.
"Hey Homeless!" Their leader. The meanest of the mean. To everyone, not just me. I turned around, no use in hiding from something that will find you in a matter of seconds. No use in hiding from something that you can't really hide from. It's not like I could blend in.
"I'm talking to you." I felt a punch to the stomach. I'm surprised I'm not internally bleeding from how many times that's happened.
"We got a new kid on the block." Another punch. Introduced with a punch and a kick.
"Say hello to my little friend Homeless." A kick in the shin and when I felt to my knees someone grabbed hold of my chin and made me look up.
"Give it a try." He said, turning to his new friend. The kid looked at me unsure.
"Come on, it's not like she feels anything." A kick to the ribs, not hard, but hard enough to make me double over.
"That's a little mean." The kid said.
"Come on, it gets fun. You get used to it." A punch in the eye.
"No, you can. I can't do that to anything or anyone." The kid said taking a step back. The leader shook his head.
"Hey Homeless why don't you fight back?"
"Scared you won't win?"
Their insults were bad, but not the worst I've heard. I kicked one last time, and then felt nothing as I heard them walk away. I lay there clutching my stomach, trying to catch my breath. And when I did I got control of the pain and stood up, making my way to the swings to sit down.
Normal. That's all normal to me. I took my hand from my stomach and touched my eye, cringing when my fingers came in contact with an already forming bruise.
It's all normal, a normal day with a normal routine. It didn't make a difference. I had bruises and scars from every fight. Each of them I never put up one. I never fought back. One against seven wouldn't work out in my favor.
My friends came over. They didn't know my name either. No one did anymore. They knew my as 'the teen' or even 'Homeless' like the leader called me. I didn't know their names, frankly it didn't matter. Names don't matter here. Living does. Staying Alive.
It wasn't until a kid tapped me on the shoulder that I realized there was my usual group of five year olds in front of me. They came once every three days, and their parents talked to each other while I told them stories.
"Was there a dragon?"
"What was the prince's name?"
"Was he handsome?"
Of course the prince in shining armor was handsome. That's how it always is. That's how all the fairytales go. Princess gets kidnapped by an evil person and almost fed to a dragon and the handsome prince comes to save her. And he always succeeds. Never fails, never falters, never loses.
Fairytales are always happy. Sometimes I fit myself into a roll. Like Cinderella, sometimes I imagine I was Cinderella. I had a family, step-sisters, even if they were evil. A family. A home. A shelter.
And then the prince came with the glass slipper and he was the most handsome man I could ever think up. Flawless. Perfect.
But nevertheless that's always cliche. Sometimes when I made myself fit the roll I had the prince be an evil man, though still flawless all the same. But again, all cliche. To be honest my life is turning out to be the biggest cliche ever.
Girl loses her family. She ends up homeless. She has some sort of strong phobia, some sort of nightmare that comes to life and then she has some sort of fetish with something that has to do with the past. Then the handsome boy comes along and saves her.
No one can save me. Avalon, the nineteen year old girl loses her only family. You only get one. She's homeless, she loves fire, she has nightmares. The nightmares haunt her every time she shuts her eyes. She has a great fear of burning flesh. But so far no handsome boy to come along and save her.
That's my cliche life. I don't want a handsome boy to come save me. And if a handsome boy does come I won't let him save me. I don't want a cliche life. I want to be different. I don't want charity. I don't want pity.
I want to live.