The streets in this part of my province were dark. They always were. The sound of gunshots were pretty common too, along with the smell of sewage and sea salt. I got used to it after a few weeks living here, so I can already say I'm strong enough to take care of myself and whatever I freaking want to do and please.

I sighed. Another gunshot rung loudly through the alleyways, echoing again and again as if no one was there. After it rung, I then knew I wasn't completely alone after all. The so called ,"compadres" where in another secluded alley not so far away from the one I was standing in. The white people call them drug traffickers.

They were probably doing their dirty work tonight.

I kicked a tin can that lay on the pavement and it noisily clattered next to the alley's wall

Fuck. Why must I live here?

Another gun shot. The sound of something, or better say someone, falling. A thud. And the noise of something spraying…dripping down a wall…

Drip.

Drop.

The person couldn't pay the debt. Got "happiness". But couldn't afford the price of having it.

Drop.

Drop.

And this is what they get in return.

Death.

And all for a few packages, little plastic bags filled with the white power that had been my own personal addiction.

Maybe a needle.

I smiled. The needles… Those were one of the best ones around. The feeling… I shivered in the memory of the feeling. It was… Was…!

I heard the gruff voices of men coming in the directon of the gunfires. Then, the sound of something being dragged against the cement floor, away and away, while the thing left something behind. Like a giant paint brush painting a wall with expensive tube paints. Except that this wasn't a paint brush painting a mural for world peace or one of those stupid things people do for "charity" or whatever that's called.

It was a corpse. A person that had fallen into the addiction, and couldn't come out, someone that had been shot because of it.

That person had been alive a few moments ago. He or she had probably begged for mercy.

A few more days, just a few more… I'll pay it, but please let me stay alive…! Something along those lines might have been said.

But the business is cold. The hit men don't have pity, they don't have feelings except for satisfaction of killing.

And now the dead person is being taken away while leaving a red bloody trail behind him or her. Maybe the hit men will bury the body somewhere so that no one will find it. Or perhaps, open it up and sell the organs. The last one is a win-win.

The organ market is pretty extensive around these parts, and they could get themselves a pretty penny with just one body. Unless they shot that person through the heart or another useful part. The point is, the person's dead.

And I don't care.

Drug addiction is one of the greatest problems around here. The biggest problem, is poverty.

Add the need to drink, breathe, or inject a drug, it doesn't matter which, and the lack of bills, you have one great piece of crappy shit. And if you consider the business and its ways of getting payment, and put it inside the equation…

You end up in the ocean. And not necessarily swimming, if you know what I mean.

By now, the sound of the dragged corpse completely disappeared. I then did the most intelligent thing I could come up with:

Go home.

I slid my hands inside my pant's pockets, and walked out of the alley as if I didn't care about anything at all, and continued living my life as if nothing happened. Back to my house... if you could call it a house anyways. I walked onto the streets were all the fancy cars of rich people passed through, and started walking towards the beach. It wasn't all that far away.

Looking around the town. The poorly built houses made with cheap concrete blocks, the filth and pieces of trash that lay on the streets, and puddles of old rain water were the things I always saw. They were all part of the place I lived. It definitely wasn't as bad as other places I've been to. At least this place is close to the ocean where I could catch something if I was lucky. And it was a popular tourist attraction, which meant lots of unsuspecting wealthy people with wallets filled with money.

All ready to be stolen. By me.

I don't enjoy stealing, but I have to eat right? It's the easiest way of getting money, but if you get caught... you're screwed.

I sighed. I've had too much experience with getting caught. A few days in prison, a beating, or getting sent to a correctional are one of the few things I've gone through. Once, the person I was taking the wallet from caught me. He just glared at me and walked away.

No one in this world is nice. It's impossible. This place is filled with hatred. The entire world is.

I walked onto the sand of the beach, and went straight to the place where I could sleep without people kicking me out or calling me a street rat.

I crouched on the sand and crawled inside the medium-sized cardboard box and lay inside.

How I hate my life.

First the poverty, then the drugs. What else can go wrong? Even if I died, I don't think it can be worse than how I live right now.

As I continued thinking about how everyone I knew had hurt me in some kind of way, and remembering how people aren't kind nor forgiving or even generous, I slowly fell asleep. To another day of surviving in a cruel world. And... the night's cold. I hugged myself to get a bit of heat, when suddenly... I started shivering. And I think a few tears were escaping my eyes... I-I hate my life. These things happen to me but...

W-Why?

This is my first one shot~! :D I feel so happy~ Even if the story is kinda depressing.

But maybe I should make this a two-shot~ Because I left it in a great cliff hanger. What will happen? D: Why does he live here? And do you think he'll survive? You can leave a comment in the review section BELOW! ...If you want to, of course~ ^^