𝔇𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔐𝔞𝔫

Prologue

Let's dive into the past, shall we? -

                

~ R I C H A R D ~

Colombia.

Drugs. Cocaine. Heroine. And murder.

Hard to despise such an heinous and polluted community, when I've grown up to be raised in the reality of my engrossing and criminal case nature. Yet I can handle to survive in it.

Although it's hard to believe that a 15 year old would be the Carrier of a criminal mind—the conceptual is nothing new to me. The trauma, the triggers, the pain and wrath—nothing new.

I've lived on these lands long enough to be able to walk like I am the lord to their king, to their owner.

Like I own them.

And I do.

But one thing I learned about colombia, is that During the day it's flaming hot. Which is the opposite at night.

Right now, I am freezing. And the coat I stole from the beggar and fought against, barely does the job of providing warmth and I blame it on the various holes surrounding the coat. While I lay on a small rectangular cardboard and stare at the dirty streets. Wrapping my arms over my body and letting out small puffs of hot air from my mouth.

Still, I feel cold. Which could lead to an average person's death in such a weather. But not me. I have gotten used to such humiliation. Kicked out of the orphanage center that I grew up in after getting illegally transported via cargo from my last orphanage in america, and having to spend the night in the streets because I misbehaved During lunch and reported that the food was unhealthy and undoubtly filled with drugs—Got used to that. Alot!

And I knew that my orphanage leaders cared less about the children they received, since I got transported in a ship that carried logs of boxes filled with weapons. And it happened after I slept that night on my bed at the orphanage and woke up to the sound of many children crying, and it was at that moment that I realized what was happening.

I was the only child that didn't cry.

I was 6.

Of course, survival tactics are mandatory and essential to ensure your safety in colombia. Unlike america.

For example, my stomach grumbles at the moment, indicating that it's time for me to get up and search for little food to satisfy my starving belly. Which I do. But I keep in mind that I'll have to fight to earn it. Just like how I got the coat.

I get up.

And pick up the cardboard with me, as I let my feet drag me to the nearest garbage bin. And when I come close to a Meat Shop owner who just threw out a pack of what could seem like rotten Meat, I cheer in victory and run up to it. Crouching down and ignoring the raw smell, as I dig my hands into the Meat and hope the owner doesn't come back and catch me sneaking at this Oasis.

And while I start munching down the containents and hardly swallow the incredibly bad taste, I hear the door to the Meat Shop opening and get alerted to someone's presence. Which forces me to stand up to my feet and hold my cardboard in defence, as I am in an attack position.

But when my eyes linger over the feminine White dress that reaches the ground, and stroll up to a rousing face that could hold me capture by just the sight—For a moment, I am lost.