*CONTINUED FLASHBACK FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER*
London was a huge place, to say the least, and, as the 16 year old boy I was, I cannot say that I wasn't overwhelmed. I had exited my train at Kings Cross Station and was greeted by towering stone walls and a crowd of bustling people, all rushing carelessly past me. I just hoped that my escape would last... London was a far enough place from the care home that almost no one here would recognise me, but if the authorities caught on...
Although soon, I had realised London wasn't good all around... On almost every street side, I was greeted by an insane-looking homeless man or woman, stretching out their worm hands, hoping for a small handful of change at the most... It was these people whom I had always been taught to steer clear of. Just drugs, violence and alcohol. Or so I was taught by the unforgiving society. Automatically I would quicken my pace as I walked past them unfortunate souls, hoping I would not be asked for money. They had a way of provoking guilt in a me, whether this was intentional or not. It certainly did make me feel guilty...
I would pass music stores and recording studios,yet I would never stop. I didn't know where I was going... Perhaps a sightseeing tour or maybe just a quick look around. Either way, I knew that I was lost. Lost in life. Lost in London. Lost in futile ambitions... Many times had I anticipated the thrill of producing music in such a recognised city, yet not once had I took into account the problems I would face. Where would I start. By visiting a records company? Who in their right mind would start a career with a mere 16 year old. By recording with my friends? This was a whole new world now, and I had not a single friend for support. I hardly even owned any money, or even a place to sleep, let alone a long-term living quarters. All this was starting to slowly seep into my brain, this sickening knowledge inviting a newer range of ambitions, swiftly replacing those of my forgotten, previous life. It all added together in the end. I would need money, a place to sleep and a means of hoping for recognition. My lack of luck defeats me yet again, as I am forced into a life of depressing poverty and sadness.
I am homeless.
YOU ARE READING
The Streets
General FictionCharlie White is homeless. He lives in London and busks on the streets, wishing for even the slightest amount of money to get back on his feet. But what will his journeys have in store?
