Ghost

Chapter One

Foxy met the blank gaze of the man with her own. She was crouched beside him as he lay among the garbage.

A rat scurried past his head and Foxy found herself focusing on it. It had something in its mouth and she was glad that at least it had found food.

Foxy sighed as her gaze drifted back to the man. He was undressed. She had seen many naked corpses. The only different thing about him was that he was handsome and clean. There were not many handsome men in the slums. Or clean people.

Foxy heard a sound and straightened her back. She bit her lower lip and then hesitantly reached out to the man's left wrist. She looked around and then placed her hand under the rubber strap of her underwear and produced a small pocket knife. Then, taking a deep breath, she started cutting the man's right thumb. It took time, and she had made a mess, with the blood coming on her frock, and on his shirt. Earlier, this affected Foxy with bile rising and ending with her vomiting. Now, she was used to it. Once, his thumb was removed from his hand. Using it, she tapped his left wrist and his skin glowed with a number written on it.

75 digits.

Foxy smiled. This was a big score. Biggest in weeks. She would be able to afford something warm.

She placed the thumb on the wrist again. Two dashes appeared. She tapped on the dashes so the number 75 would appear.

Foxy placed her left wrist over his and the transfer was made. She stood up shakily. A wave of dizziness hit her and Foxy found herself holding her stomach. In few seconds, the wave had passed, and Foxy found herself trudging away from the corpse.

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Death was not uncommon in the slums. Corpses could be found anywhere. However, people reached to them quickly, so one had to be smart. Act quickly. Keep an eye open. Scout places with less people.

It was not a rule. But Foxy had made them in her head. Corpses were essential for her survival.

Good thing people died in numbers.

Emma's Kitchen was just a large, overcrowded slum where the woman made a living by selling overpriced stale, yet warm food. She didn't fare well. If people could afford food, why would they come to her? Most of the time, if she was feeling generous, she would give the food for free. But they would be cold. So basically Emma charged for warm food.

Emma's Kitchen was Foxy's usual hangout. It was the source of food. Or leftovers. And Emma was a bit kind to her.

Foxy slipped past people as she made her way to Emma who was crouched beside her stove and heating something.

"Emma." Foxy said.

Emma looked up, "Darling." She have Foxy a wide toothed smile. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing better." Foxy said with a smile. And then said. "Can I have some warm food?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "How much do you have kid?"

"Enough."

Emma raised an eyebrow but didn't say a word as she nodded. She picked a yellowing Styrofoam bowl, poured some slimy soup in it, and then handed it to Foxy. Foxy held out her left wrist wrist, and touched it with her right thumb, it glowed to show blank dashes. She tapped once on the first dash, and the number 1 appeared, then tapped 6 times on the other dash, and the number six appeared. Then, she tapped her wrist against Emma's.

Emma smiled. "I'm happy for you, kid. But be careful. Mugging is on the rise."

Foxy nodded.

"Not many rich people dying or coming by here."

Foxy nodded again.

"Difficult times."

"Can I go?" Foxy said.

Emma nodded and Foxy made her way, smiling on her warm soup, and she found herself a considerably empty corner to enjoy her stale yet warm food.

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The soup felt funny in her stomach. It had been ages since Foxy had her tummy filled. It would take an hour or so for her body to accept it.

It took fifteen minutes for Foxy to reach her sleeping spot from Emma's Kitchen. But the way was too crowded tonight. There were drunkards (funnily enough, there was always enough digits to get them drunk) to be found in the way. Foxy was not worried about them. It was the muggers. They always were far too many of them when they attacked.

Drunkards she could outrun. And she hoped that it was the drunkards that she would find.

She was mistaken.

She was halfway to her sleeping spot when someone emerged from behind a very bad looking slum. Foxy put her head down. It was one of the tricks; better not to maintain eye contact, sometimes they would let you go. It was not a rule. But whenever they caught her, she never had digits, so they did let her go calling her lucky.

"Hey kid, where are you coming from?"

Foxy froze. He was already infront of her. If she took a step back, she would find someone else pressing against her too. They always attacked in twos and threes.

"Please let me go." She plead.

He bent down, meeting her gaze. "Aw."

He reeked of faeces and something rotten. He had been near a corpse. She could smell it on him.

He pulled her close, grabbing her arm, and then sniffed her neck. "She smells like Emma's. How long has it been since we've been there?"

"Ages." Someone replied from behind. The man nodded.

"How much do you want?"

It was another rule. If they surrounded you, it was better to give some portion of your digits and act like you had given all of it.

He laughed, letting her go, "How much do you have, princess?"

"Little." Foxy managed. Her heard was thudding against her ribs. Ready to explode.

"Give all of it."

She nodded. Using the same way as she had done back in the Kitchen, Foxy tapped the digits twenty-seven and then held out her wrist.

"Aw, bitch, that will give us one servings only."

Foxy made the mistake of looking up when he called her a bitch. And that ruined it for her.

"Bitch is hiding. She has more." Another guy said from the side.

"No, I don't, please."

The man from the side came up close, grabbed her wrist, and took out a knife. He was taller than the man in front and bald, dirty. Scary. Foxy found herself tearing up.

"Please, I don't."

"How much do you have?"

"I'm giving what I have." Foxy cried.

He didn't wait. He didn't give her a chance. With one swift motion, he had cut her right thumb. Foxy yelled as the blood sprouted from where her thumb would have been. She knelt as the pain blinded her. She cried, and cried, and cried . . .

They used her thumb to get the remaining digits and then fled. Foxy sobbed in pain. Holding her hand with another. She shook. The pain was horrible, so, so, horrible . . .

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