Darcy Ellen Jones

        I shivered as I gripped the thin material of the small blanket and curled my fingers with anticipation. An ice cold breeze greeted me as I struggled to maintain my body temperature. My eyelids fluttered open and my large turquoise pupils darted across my vaguely familiar surroundings warily. A large population of people crowded around me scattering across the thin strips of sidewalks and the wide asphalt roads. They each clutched thin electronic devices to their ears and talked quickly and in hushed whispers, some sipped steaming cups of hot coffee. Most of whom were business men and women rushing towards elongated skyscrapers but the few stray were teenagers; like me. They shuffled throughout the crowd in long lines, their arms slung lazily over their friends shoulders or around their wastes. The large amount of them spoke loudly to one another, gossiping about a multitude of things such as the latest bands or movies and spreading rumours about people they dislike.

        I physically shrink into my thin cocoon of sleeping blankets and observed everything and everyone. Unfortunately, I wasn't blessed enough to have a wealthy family. Or a family at all. I was one of the many unfortunate people whom scavenged for food and were forced into prostitution or stealing to get essentials. We were homeless, often looked at with a glare of disgust. People think we chose to live like this, sleeping under trees or cramped up in the confined area of a cardboard box near a bus stop. They didn't realize how blessed they were, how spoilt they were. They had everything, from food to houses, cars to money and friends to family. 

        I had nothing.

        No friends, no. If you're homeless then you learn to survive on your own, a key strategy is to never find someone trustworthy, they will always turn their backs on you. No matter what. And as for family, a few people split up and never find each other again. Some siblings are split apart from death or illnesses. Some may have become involved with drugs and alcohol and left to work at a strip bar on the curb. As for me, my sister died from a fatal illness. I wasn't able to raise enough money to buy any medications for her.

        She gave me a few things before she died. For example; the old greying singlet that I wear until this day, the ebony ripped skinny jeans that seemed baggy on me, a golden chain necklace with an infinity symbol on it, a small silver bobby pin that I keep in my pocket and two thin scratchy blankets. It's not that much, but I treasure each thing dearly. If someone tries to steal them, I have a few weapons in handy. I keep a small pocket knife in my back pocket and a lighter in my front.

        I sighed, rubbing my stomach and wrapping the blankets around me. I found a small alleyway behind the Gordan's Grand Groceries store and began my search for breakfast, I lifted the lid to a few bins and searched through them before finally giving up and wandering around aimlessly. This was a daily routine for me.

        I turned around, tripping over a small medal pipe and tumbling onto my back. The gravel scraped my bare feet and dirt got caught in my brunette hair. I stared up at a bulky silhouette against the sunlight, the man (I'm assuming it was a man.) picked up the pipe, grasping it at an odd angle, he approached me quietly and raised the pipe above his head, getting ready to hit me.

        Apparently, I had something he wanted. Whether it was my valuable necklace, my blankets or my bread crumbs, I hadn't a clue.

        I thought: Wow, he's scary.

        I thought: I'm going to die or something.

        I thought: What if he rapes me?

        I stared up at him with wide eyes. Why wasn't he hitting me? I thought. Then the pipe was ripped out of his dirty hands and the man was on the ground sputtering out blood from his mouth and his nose was pointing at an awkward angle. I glanced up at the other guy. 

        "Here. Let me help." He spoke with a deep and slow British accent.


His hair was brunette and extremely curly, he had tied a red bandana in his hair. He sported a white short sleeve t-shirt with black skinny jeans and brown boots. 

        I stared up at his face, he was smiling lop-sided at me, exposing his dimples.

My eyes met his and I found myself staring into his emerald eyes.

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