Life on the Streets
Chapter One
"Oy! David!" Someone shouted from the other end of the alleyway, "Oy! Get
your ass down here, boy! Jimmy ain't working!"
Emerald green eyes flickered in disgust, turning a silvery depth of black
emptiness, "Ah, Shit!" he grumbled, "I have to put up with so much crap
around here, don't I, boy?" he asked the scruffy black dog who'd adopted
him when he was about thirteen and hadn't left him since.
The dog whined his agreement and David sighed, "maybe it's time I saw a bit
of the world. Maybe I should be moving up, getting a new job or summing."
He sighed as he met the baleful eyes of the dog, "alright!" he called back
down the street, "I'm coming!"
Although David himself had worked in the sweatshops until his fifteenth
birthday, only a year ago, he wasn't allowed to show any sympathy to the
other workers or he'd be 'removed'. His position was less than secure, and
he knew it. He was used to it, however, and only did what was needed to
survive without being taken out.
Striding angrily from his 'desk' (an upturned box) he hurried down to the
entrance to the area that was his responsibility. The dog didn't leave the
box, not wanting to see what was about to happen.
David strode angrily to the stuttering boy named Jimmy, "What's the
problem, James?" he asked in a silky sweet voice, "is there a problem?"
"N, N, No, sir!" Jimmy stuttered, "It's just. I, I was thirsty sir. It's
very hot work, sir."
Grimacing privately, David remembered all-too-well how awful it was to be
working there without water, but he couldn't be too kind.
"James," he said softly, "go and get a glass and a big bucket of water from
the lav. Bring it to me and you can all have a quick drink, but if I get
shit for it, you can be sure that whatever you get will be worse."
"Actually, David," a cold, sneer said behind him, "it won't be. As you are
leading our staff astray, I hereby remove you from our service."
David turned around, finding himself face to face with his arch-nemesis,
Esselte Larus. The two of them had been found around the same time, and
put to work together - but they hated each other and couldn't work
together. Esselte went out of his way to get David into trouble, much to
David's disgust. They had been advanced at the same time, punished with
the same punishments and treated exactly the same.
Until Esselte realized that David wasn't playing his game anymore. David
didn't seem to care about the punishments that were meted out to him; his
eyes would glaze over through the beating, he would ignore the pain and he
didn't speak to anyone. Esselte still took every opportunity to get him a
further punishment, but was unsuccessful until recently - it seemed.
"Oh, please, Esselte. You can't get rid of me. You aren't that superior."
"Ah, David, that's where you're wrong. I was promoted this morning and, as
of now, you're gone."
David blinked, his emerald green eyes returning briefly from the blank
depths before going a crystal clear blue, "Well then," he said with a
cheeky grin, "I'll be off then, I was saying this morning that it was about
time I looked for a new job."
He smirked and walked down the alley, whistling for the dog and continuing
down the path.
David didn't know much about himself, not really. He knew David wasn't his real name, and April 24 wasn't his real birthday. He knew that his parents either didn't want him, or were dead, and he knew that he really didn't know much about where he came from. All that Spencer had told him was that he knew was that David had appeared in the middle of the street on April 25 and nobody knew where he came from or how he got there. He'd been 'adopted' and cared for until he was about three, and was allowed to start work in the sweatshops. At three, he'd been in charge of watching the others and making sure that they stayed at their desks the whole fifteen hours they worked, until he turned five and was sent to the desks himself. There, he'd spent almost ten years fiddling with the little pills as he packed them into tiny boxes, trying to fit ten into a box that carried five. He'd been whipped, beaten and raped hundreds of times, but he saw it as the norm. What do you do when you don't know that life could be better?
David didn't know much about himself, not really. He knew David wasn't his real name, and April 24 wasn't his real birthday. He knew that his parents either didn't want him, or were dead, and he knew that he really didn't know much about where he came from. All that Spencer had told him was that he knew was that David had appeared in the middle of the street on April 25 and nobody knew where he came from or how he got there. He'd been 'adopted' and cared for until he was about three, and was allowed to start work in the sweatshops. At three, he'd been in charge of watching the others and making sure that they stayed at their desks the whole fifteen hours they worked, until he turned five and was sent to the desks himself. There, he'd spent almost ten years fiddling with the little pills as he packed them into tiny boxes, trying to fit ten into a box that carried five. He'd been whipped, beaten and raped hundreds of times, but he saw it as the norm. What do you do when you don't know that life could be better?