Survive (Rip)
Survive.
The one thing that he has taken from his mother was the one thing that has helped him through many harsh times. That one word has helped him make it to adulthood, helped him go on when he wanted nothing more than to just give up One of the few things he actually remembers about her and the most important thing he has had since he was younger, since his mother died. Watching as his mother withered away from an easily curable disease, he has learned that life isn’t fair and no matter how hard you pray to a god, nothing can change that. When his mother died, he had nothing left. They had been living in a run down shack when she had fallen ill and had very little money. His mother worked two jobs but even that had only been enough to feed them and give them a shelter. It wasn’t enough to buy her the medication that she needed to get better. He had thought that that he could help her if he was a good boy, didn’t ask for anything and helped out when he could. It didn’t do anything in the long run but he wanted to believe that he had made her feel better. As she lay on her thin mattress, breathing her last breaths, she gave him the most important advice he has ever gotten. Something that he carried with him, even now decades later.
Survive.
The police that took him away after they had found his mother dead, were not nice people. They grabbed him roughly and dragged him around like he was nothing more than a mangy mutt. He hated them. They took him to a house filled with kids like him. Kids with no parents. It was alright at first, but he missed his mother. He missed her stories, her hugs and her unfailing ability to make him laugh, even in the worst of times. He knew that there would be no one that could replace her and didn’t even try to connect with the adults in the house. The adults that looked after him were normal, at least that was what he thought in the beginning. He had learned the hard way not to trust people on their appearance. The woman was cruel, reigning over the house with a stern hand. He often was left with bruises and cuts when he went to bed and would often remain for days. The man, when he came home from work, would grab a drink and keep drinking until he was walking and talking funny. The kids around him had learned to avoid him when he did. He only learned when he had received a hit for getting in the way of the game. So he did what the others were doing. He stayed out of the way and hoped that he would be ignored. Except, it didn’t get better. It got so much worse. So he made a choice, one that he had thought could not make it worse than what was happening at that time. He chose to leave and make his own way in life on the streets. He chose his own future.
Survive.
The first few weeks on the street were hell. He could not find enough food, or find shelter that was not already claimed by someone else. The weather had taken a turn so he was often huddling somewhere he could be somewhat protected from the wind and rain. He had run away with only the clothes on his back. By the time three weeks had passed, they were in tatters and offered him little to no protection. He had not been able to bring any food with him so he had to find some on his own. He had taken to digging through trash to find some kind of food, enough to keep him alive. It was often old and gross food but he knew that he could not be picky. There were plenty of times where he had gone days without food. The ache and gnawing hunger in his stomach had become a constant and familiar feeling. He had actually been surprised when he made it to month two of living on the streets. He had fully believed that he would die of hunger, thirst, or cold within the first week. He would have preferred to die on the streets than to live in that house. He didn’t like the idea of allowing himself to be abused just so that he could get some food and have a roof over his head. Only seven years old and he was already at the point where he was ready to accept his death. He knew that it would be easier, and less painful than living like this. But his mother’s words kept him going. Kept him alive.
Survive.
It did get easier. He soon learned that he would have to do more than foraging to stay alive on the streets like these. He had met a few teens that had been willing to give him a few pointers on how to pick pocket, shoplift and general knowledge of the area and people. They didn’t stick around and he didn’t blame them. There were some unsavoury people in the area where he had set up his own space. It was an old factory that has long been abandoned, rusted to the point that is was almost suicide going into it. He was small and light enough that it was perfect for him. Safe enough too. No one would be willing to go in there after him so he always had a safe place to run to if he got into a bad situation. It took him a few weeks to master pick pocketing without getting caught. Even with that skill though, he still had a hard time making sure he got enough to eat. The ache in his stomach was a permanent fixture nowadays but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about it. But he had been happy that he had finally settled into life on the streets and thought that maybe it would get easier. He thought wrong.
Survive.
He had to learn the hard way not to trust people on their word. He had known right away not to trust people that lived on the streets like him. He knew that they would do anything to get by, much like himself. What he didn’t think about was the normal people. The people who had jobs, houses, cars and the like. He didn’t realize that he had to be wary of them as well. It had been days since he had even gotten a bite of food and he had been getting desperate. So when a normal man came to him offering a meal for a small favour, he had tentatively accepted. He wished that he had declined, wished that he could take back his choice. Wished that he did not have to go through that, something that an eight year old child should never have to go through. He would have to carry the burden of his choices in the scars that the man had left with his teeth. For days after, he had carried the idea of letting go, of giving up but his mother’s words had rang through his head. He had to learn from his mistakes and move on. It was a horrific event but it was something that he has come to realize had made him stronger. It had made him realize exactly how tough life was and knew that he would have to stop being so nice if he wanted to make it one more year.
Survive.
It had gotten almost too easy for him on the streets after a year of living on them. He has mastered his pick pocketing skills and was able to eat almost every day. He had been able to save up some money to buy himself some new clothes that didn’t have holes in them or were previously owned. He even had a little left over that he could get himself some materials to make his shelter warmer during the cold nights. He learned who lived nearby and who to avoid. He learned how to travel quickly between the alleys and across the rooftops. Travelling through the streets like that have made him an expert on running away. It also helped that he was now able to know every street and alley in the area around his little shelter. He has even learned a few fighting techniques from watching some other people fight. Thankfully, he has never had to use them. He knew that he was too small and too weak to actually do anything to anyone. If it ever appeared appeared like the situation was leaning towards violence, he used his small stature and speed to get away. Nobody has ever been able to keep up with him when he did. He didn’t want to start something that would end up with him hurt or even dead.
Survive.
He had caught a look at himself in a mirror a little over a year on the streets and he barely recognized himself. Even though he was outside most of the day, he was paler than the dead. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that he didn’t get anywhere near the amount of nutrition he was supposed to. Which also made him look like a walking skeleton. Stick like arms and legs, he was skinnier that he has ever been. He could see and count ever rib, could see the bones in his arms and legs in enough detail that it kind of freaked him out. He was half the size that he should have been and looked a lot younger than he actually was. He looked terrible, if he was to be honest, and it scared him. It scared him how much the streets had affected him. He had thought that he had finally gotten used to the minimalist lifestyle. He knew then that he was getting enough food, water and sleep to stay alive but not enough to be healthy. And he had no idea what to do other than try harder to stay alive. After all, he had a promise to keep.
Survive.
The days passed by quickly and he soon lost track of what day it was. He often didn’t even know what month it was. He wasn’t even sure how old he was anymore. He has never celebrated his birthday, mainly because his mother has never had enough money to do so. He wasn’t even sure that he cared anymore. It wasn’t like it mattered all that much to his survival. The days that passed were always the same. He would get up, and go out to the busy main street where he could lift some wallets. People these days rarely carry money with them so he didn’t find much that could help him. The cards that people carried that accessed their money, were often secured by protective measures he couldn’t figure out. So those were no good. When he got tired of that, or when he actually found some money would he return home. He has found out how to ration food so when he found a lot of food, he would take it home and store it. He would eat in the late afternoon if he had any left over. After his small meal, he would go out in search of more food. Restaurants were a good place to look. They were always throwing food away. If he was unable to find any food, he would return back home to sleep. Then it was the same thing the next day. And the next day. And the next. Day after day of just trying to survive so he wasn’t all that surprised when he lost track of the days. He didn’t care about the passing of time as long as those days kept coming.
Survive.
He barely remembered his mother anymore. His memories of his childhood were fading as he grew older. He hated it, hated losing those precious memories. Those moments in time have helped him in so many ways and to lose them because his mind was not good enough, made him him angry. He has never gone to school so he could not read or write. He didn’t know math or science or any of that stuff they taught in school. He has never really needed those skills in his life. He knew how to recognize the shapes of words and what they meant but he had no idea what they actually said. He knew about amount and money and numbers. He had had to teach himself all of this stuff. He had thought that even though he was not school smart, he would be able to remember the most important person in his life. He held onto what he could remember like a life line but it
eventually slipped through his fingers. He hated the feeling. He was losing the most important thing in his life, except that one word that had helped him through the hardest times in his life.
Survive.
He has taken to carrying a knife around with him. As he got older, and more knowledgeable about the streets, he realized that it was a stupid thing to go around unprotected. He knew that running away would not always be an option for him. He had found a knife on a dead body of a man, and while he hated defiling the dead, he needed the knife more than the man did. And he was glad that he did take for he needed it sooner than he had thought. A small group of teens had moved into the area, terrorizing people around them. They had scared the people that they wanted something from and killed anyone who defied them. They were merciless and didn’t discriminate against anyone. He had been lucky enough to avoid them. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he ran into them. It turned out to be sooner rather than later. They had wanted him to be one of their minions, to do whatever they said when they said it. He was sure he even heard on of them call him “pretty” and he knew that it would not be a good thing to do as they said. So he refused. He didn’t remember much of what happened next, only that there was a fight and only one of the teens managed to get away. Two were dead and another one was injured beyond fixing. He was covered in blood, holding the knife so tightly that his bones ached. He was shaking so hard and yet he felt so numb. This was the first time he has ever killed anyone but he hadn’t felt guilty about it. He knew that it was either them or him. He made his choice and he wasn’t going to regret it.
Survive.
It had been years since he had abandoned the foster home to live on the street when he was approached by a pair of men. Of course he didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust anyone. They talked about unimaginable stuff and he had thought they were messing with him. There was no way what they talked about was real. And it go even weirder when they offered him a chance to join them. The last time he had gone with a strange man, he had ended up scarred for life. There was no way he was going with these men. They gave him a device to contact them if he “changed his mind”. They seemed so sure he was going to join them that it sort of pissed him off. He hated the idea that they thought they knew him so well. Except, they may have been right. What they offered was everything that he has not had in his life. Food, shelter, safety. A home is what they were appearing to offer. He couldn’t tell if they were actually telling the truth but to be honest, did it really matter? He was getting tired of this. Constantly struggling to find something to eat, sleeping with a knife under his pillow, it was making him exhausted. The chance that these men were offering him could give him a chance of an actual life. But would it be worth it? It didn’t matter. He promised his mother he would survive no matter what. With a hesitant mind, he called the men back and faced his future with his head held high. He was going to live, no matter what this world threw at him.
He was going to survive.