With every step bare feet met wet cobblestone in a sickening slap that sent a painful jolt up my legs. A slight drizzle had fallen upon the city, chilling the air to almost winter-like temperatures. I still hadn’t quite decided whether my legs were on fire or had gone completely numb from the exhaustion and cold. One thing I did know was that my lungs burned like the fiery pits of hell resided within them. Each inhale turned into a strange kind of wheezing noise that faintly resembled a whistle. Asthma was definitely a hindrance to my lifestyle.

Skidding around a corner I ducked into a narrow alleyway, the kind of dark place most mothers warn their children about entering alone. My mother had taught me each one of these secret passageways, even encouraged their usage. Opening a trash bin painted with graffiti, I took a deep breath of fresh air and jumped in.

Confined in that dark, rank place was possibly one of the worst experiences in my life. I’ve watched TV shows through the Kelly’s TV and Radio Store window where actors jump into said trash bins to hide from their pursuers, but they never showed them gagging from the smell. For lack of a better word, terrible is the way I’ll describe it, but it was far beyond that. Stale air suffocated you, and the smell of people’s rotting trash entered the nostrils unbidden. Within the two minutes I was in there I retched more times than I ever had in my entire life. Thankfully my stomach was pretty much empty, but what little did come up certainly did not help the situation at all.

After I could bear it no more, I climbed out of that hellish place (I’m now certain that one of the levels of hell is a garbage bin). Finding myself alone once more, I turned toward the way I had come from, and began my long walk home.

My growling stomach reminded me of the meager dinner that had just become an addition to the town’s garbage. Frowning to nobody in particular, I cursed my luck. Thanks to my awful choice of hiding places, stealing those dinner rolls and turkey slices now seemed kind of pointless.

---

Home looked a lot like a set of two rooms on the second floor of a building that didn’t look like it’d stand up much longer. The ‘landlords’ consisted of a young couple of sketchy origins. I’m pretty sure they’re on heroine or crack or something. Their eyes are always beat red and I don’t think it’s from the lack of sleep. My theory is they stumbled upon this building after it was abandoned by the more sensible people of this city and decided it’d make a better place to live than…wherever they were from. Of course my mother had a similar idea, but since they had claimed this territory first we now paid them ten bucks at the end of every month.

Once I told her not to pay them because it would just feed their crazy drug habit. She beat me for it, saying something along the lines of “don’t judge people you don’t know” blah, blah, blah. If I had told her that when she made one of her daily rants about the worthless government/ stupid men/ snobby rich people, I would probably get another beating; so instead, I just pretend to say it.

“And where do you think you’ve been?” Cue the woman attempting to assert her motherly authority. With her hands on her hips and mouth turned into a frown she was almost convincing; almost.

“Getting some food.” I tried not to role my eyes.

Heading over to my mattress tucked in the corner of the adjoining room I plopped down, wincing at the high-pitched squeaking of rusty springs. Staring up at the ceiling, I tried to ignore my growling stomach as I rubbed my calloused feet. Damn cobblestones. They may look pretty, but they hurt like hell to run on. I could hear my mother moving about the next room, doing god knows what. Sighing, I closed my eyes and counted backwards from one hundred. Somewhere around the mid-thirties I fell into a dreamless sleep.

---

“Get your ass up,” An all too familiar shout from the adjacent room served as my alarm clock. I hid under the pathetic blanket my mother called a comforter, hoping that maybe she’d forget about me.

“You’re going to school. I don’t want social services paying me another visit ‘cause you’re too lazy to get an education.” She was back in that “motherly stance” again, with her hands on her hips and lips turned into a frown. I wonder if she thought that actually worked. I got up with an over-exaggerated groan directed in her general direction. She just rolled her eyes and left.

My wardrobe consisted of: one pair of ripped jeans (thank god they were in style, ‘cause I can’t afford a new pair), one plain t-shirt—black ‘cause they were harder to get dirty—, and one pair of black sneakers. I pulled the sneakers out of an orange and tan box with the words Nike boldly written across the top. It’s been about three years ago since I bought them, but they almost looked brand new, and by god I planned to keep them that way.

I remember saving up forty of my hard-earned allowance dollars to buy this particular pair of shoes. I had seen them in a window of some local shoe store, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They were so cool and practical too. I mean, who doesn’t need a good pair of sneakers? So, on my way home from school I boldly stepped into the brightly lit store, packed to the brim with shoes of every kind, and bought them. Walking home I couldn’t wait to show my mom and her boyfriend my recent purchase.

I never did get the chance to show them. Upon entering the house I knew something was wrong. Broken dishes lay strewn about the tiled floor, and pieces of broken furniture told of a fairly intense battle in the living room. I found my mother sobbing in her room. Apparently, my mother’s boyfriend, Robbie, had been stealing my mother’s hard-earned money for the last five years they’d been dating. He left, leaving my mother—and myself—penniless. Asshole just about sums him up.

After that, my mother was never the same. She became a cynical alcoholic that worked a minimum wage job to pay for her addiction and a place for the two of us to stay. Other than that I fended for myself, working off some of the things I really needed whenever I could; but mostly, I just stole. A pair of black Nike shoes was the last thing I’ve bought in three years, how pathetic is that?

---

Once again, life found me running through the city streets with some very unfriendly restaurant employees in hot pursuit. A stitch in my side made each step more annoying than the last. I guess that’s what happens when you eat too fast. Weaving between dumbstruck people, I eventually increased the distance from my pursuers. Too soon for my liking, I began to sound like a whistle with each inhale—a signal that my body was calling it quits. It’s quite pathetic when a youthful spirit like myself couldn’t even outrun some old, out-of-shape waiters without feeling like death afterwards.

After making sure the two men had definitely given up, I took a break. Placing my hands on my thighs I bent over, taking huge gasps of air. I tried to ignore the fire that seemed to have ignited in my lungs, but I never took a liking to those kinds of pains. I could feel the veins in my head pulsing, sending lots of blood straight to my head and leaving me extremely light-headed. Thank you, oh non-existent father for you’re lovely contribution to the making of me. I’m assuming he had asthma since my mother didn’t have this infliction. Besides, I needed someone to blame this on.

Crack. A single shot pierced through the quiet air. Consumed with my father-cursing, I unknowingly ran into the not-so-nice part of town, to put it lightly. Evening time normally left these streets deserted; tonight was no exception. Staying low to the ground I slowly moved towards the source of the sound. I don’t exactly know why I did this. I suppose that a gunshot trigged my over-active curiosity.

Typical of most shootings, this one took place in a rather dark alley that practically screamed “Do not enter.” Standing in the middle of the alley was a man holding a silver pistol. Slumped up against the wall I could just make out the figure of a fairly well-dressed man. Slowly I backed away from the scene, my curiosity now replaced by fear. I don’t know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. I could smell the blood from my hiding position a few feet away, and I didn’t need the light to see that what once was a man’s head was now converted into some paint on a dirty alley wall.

“Trooper 505 we’ve received warnings of a shot fired in your district. Do you copy?”

“Copy that station; I’ll go check it out.”

My eyes widened at the conversation being held over the man’s radio. He’s a fucking cop! If I’m not mistaken, they’re supposed to help people not shoot them in the head. I’m no saint, but even I know right from wrong, and he was definitely in the wrong.

Having seen enough to have lasted me a lifetime I turned around, quietly walking away. Once I knew I couldn’t be heard I sprinted all the way home—asthma be damned.

---

Pacing around my room was probably not a good idea; it tended to scare the mother-like figure. Perhaps scare wasn’t the right word, annoyed maybe?

“Stop that and sit down! What is your problem?”

Preoccupied with my thoughts I shrugged; again, not a good idea.

“Why couldn’t I have a normal daughter? Why did God have to curse me with you….?” Her questions of my worth faded into the background. I had more urgent matters to attend to; besides, her choice of topic wasn’t new material.

That guy probably had a wife, maybe a kid or two, and a job he hated but paid to well to quit. He probably played poker every Friday with some guys from the office while the wives got together to gossip about the latest Hollywood news. I bet he even had a dog.

Now he was dead; killed by another man who probably had a wife and maybe a kid or two of his own. Why? What was there to gain? The victim could’ve been a murderer or rapist, but I know he wasn’t. The driver’s license I had found inside of his suit had said his name was Thomas Smith. A suit-wearing man bearing the name Thomas Smith did not seem to fit the profile of a sadistic killer.

Clutching my head I finally sat done on my mattress. I shouldn’t have gone back, shouldn’t have looked at the body. I shouldn’t have done a lot of things, but I did, and now I had the headache to pay for it.

I glanced at the silver watch I had lifted from Smith’s wrist and winced at the late hour. It was probably wrong of me, but he didn’t need it anymore and I was pretty sure I was already going to hell. Something tells me God doesn’t like rebellious teenagers who have a tendency to steal.

Falling onto my back I tried telling my brain to shut up and get some sleep. It didn’t work; not that I was really expecting it too. I closed my eyes anyway and stayed real still. If I pretended to be sleeping maybe I could trick myself into actually sleeping. My irrational logic always astounded me, but somehow the trick worked. Not tonight though.

When my mother screamed her usual wake-up call I didn’t bother lingering in bed. Sleep wasn’t coming so there was no point in trying. Pulling on my black shirt and jeans I grabbed my backpack and headed towards school.

---

I swear I was going to go straight to school and forget all about the incident, and maybe catch some sleep in Miss. Nolan’s incredibly boring physics class. I forgot that I had to pass the police station on my route. As soon as I saw it I knew I wouldn’t be able to pass it, not without going in. I fought the urge, I really did. A kid like me avoids the men in blue uniform at all costs. Yet there I was, staring face-to-face with my unspoken enemy. My feet can be stubborn at times.

“Can I help you Miss….?” The guy looked friendly enough for a cop, I guess.

“Just call me Ayden,” Now that I was here I was starting to have second thoughts. How do I know more cops aren’t in on this? I couldn’t even recognize the shooter. I felt my palms become increasingly clammy as I realized what a stupid idea this was.

“Alright Ayden, what can I do for you?” He smiled with perfect white teeth that probably cost a fortune. My mother would’ve hated him.

“Umm…are you Trooper 505 by any chance?” I shifted nervously from foot to foot.

“…No he’s in the hospital…why do you ask?” Oh no, he was suspicious. I could tell by the slightly raised eyebrow and the hesitation in his voice.

“Why is he in the hospital?” I tried to sound innocent, but I was never a very good actress.

“He was injured while on the job.”

“He got shot?!” My surprise seemed to intrigue the cop.

“…How do you know Phil exactly?”

“ Oh I don’t…I just saw him murder someone last night…so I guess it’s really no surprise that he got shot, I mean he had it coming, karma and everything…” My hand realized what I was saying before my brain did and covered mouth, stopping my stupid self from seeming like a mental patient.

The cop seemed to become deathly still of the sudden and turn a sickish shade of grey, “I-I think you should come with me.” He looked around nervously, as if afraid of something.

I didn’t like his reaction, and immediately took a step back, ready to bolt.

Apparently he guessed my intentions, “Don’t worry I don’t think you’re crazy, at least not yet. I’m just taking you somewhere more private so we can talk.”

I nodded my consent, allowing him to lead the way.

---

I sat, stuffing my face with a hamburger and fries. It was the best meal I had eaten in months.

The cop’s name was Robert I found out about half an hour into a very intense Q and A session. After listening to my rumbling stomach for an hour and a half he decided to walk me over to the nearest McDonalds. Between alternating bites of hamburger and fries I sipped on a large coke. Soda was a luxury I hadn’t tasted in years and boy had I missed its caffeinated goodness.

“Better now?” He seemed almost amused to watch me shove food into my mouth like I hadn’t had a proper meal in week. If only he knew how true that comparison was.

Nodding my delight, I finished off the last of my fries, much to my dismay. Robert seemed to notice this. With a laugh he went up to the counter to order me some more. Maybe cops aren’t so bad after all.

“So let me get this straight. You heard a gunshot, and went to see what was going on. That’s when you noticed Officer Phil holding a gun and a man laying dead in an alley,” He was fairly young, but stress lines began to show slightly as he reread his notes to me.

“Yes, I didn’t know he was a cop at first ‘till I heard some lady talk on his radio calling him Trooper 505. She said there had been reports of a shot fired in his district and he said he’d go check it out. After that I figured I’d seen enough and left and now here we are.” Normally I would’ve minded his annoying repetitiveness, but I had food so I was happy.

“Right then you came to me the next morning to report the incident.”

“Obviously.”

“Right ok, good,” Apparently he didn’t understand sarcasm, either that or he was to preoccupied.

“Ok, so what do we do now,” I slurped up the last of my soda and began eyeing the soda machine.

“Well, I called the forensics team to locate the body. When they reached the alley you described the body was gone, but there were still traces of blood to collect samples from. They’ll do a DNA analysis to determine if the blood does belong to this Mr. Smith and if it matches your story we’re probably going to need you to testify what you saw in court.”

“Yeah sure, no problem, anything to miss another day of school,” I smiled at the thought.

---

No one told me how nerve-wracking testifying was. I’d never been in a court room before, and after this I never want to be in one again. The judge looked unfriendly, the jury looked bored, the defendant looked pissed off, and in the front row behind the plaintiff’s bench I could see Mrs. Smith with her two children, her eyes still red with grief.

I kept shifting positions in my chair, unable to get comfortable. Some lawyer guy in a fancy suit kept asking me questions about the event. I didn’t really like him, he had a bad vibe about him, but he was on our side so I couldn’t really complain.

“Now after you found out it was a cop that had done the shooting what did you do?”

“I got freaked out so I ran home, but shortly after I returned and found the body still there. He was carrying his wallet with his license in it, that’s how I found out the name. I guess when the other cops went back the next day the body was gone.”

“Interesting. I’d like to let the court know that an analysis of the blood found at the crime scene indeed belonged to Mr. Thomas Smith. I have no further questions your honor.”

The defendant’s lawyer stood up then with a smug grin on his face. That was never a good sign.

“Tell me Ayden, what exactly were you doing in that section of town by yourself?”

“I had just eaten dinner and was wandering around not paying attention. It was only when I heard the gunshot that I realized where I was,” Cold sweat started crawling down my neck. What did this guy know that made him seem so cocky?

“Mhm…and where did you eat dinner exactly?”

“I….stole it” I mumbled the words, hoping no one would notice. I had no such luck though.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

God I wanted to punch this guy in the face. My fists clenched in preparation for doing so, but held my temper. Giving him the death glare I repeated slowly and clearly for everyone in the room to hear, “I stole it.”

“I see,” he said, as if he knew the situation behind the stealing, “and isn’t it true that this is a common occurrence? Isn’t it true that half the restaurants in this city have some very angry owners that would love to get their hands on you?”

“Well yeah it’s true, but you see I have a good-”

“And isn’t it also true that food is not the only thing you’ve stolen? Several other stores have also complained of your frequent…rebelliousness.”

“Yes but-”

“No further questions your honor.”

My face turned red. What nerve did he have judging me? He was defending a killer and he’s worried about some things I stole to keep me alive? I stepped down from the bench furious and walked out of the court room, followed quickly by a very upset looking Officer Robert.

As soon as the doors closed his rant began, “What the hell was that?! You’re a criminal and you didn’t even feel the need to tell me about this? You were the prime evidence to convict the son-of-a-bitch and you’ve gone and royally screwed that up?! How could you not tell me?”

I sat down, leaning against the hard wall with my eyes closed. I tried to keep my voice steady, but my emotions were getting the best of me, “I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Didn’t think it would matter? How could you not think it would matter? They’re going to pull some unreliable witness bullshit and your testimony won’t mean anything and he will walk.”

“What’s the big deal if I stole a few things? He killed a person!”

“Stealing is against the law that’s why it’s a big deal! What possessed you to even do such a stupid thing?”

“Maybe ‘cause it’s the only way I wouldn’t starve, maybe ‘cause I needed clothes to wear, maybe ‘cause I’m not rich like everyone else and I need things ok?” This was getting way to personal now, and I hated getting personal. Water began to well up in my eyes so I kept them clothes. I’d never be caught dead crying in front of someone, especially him.

“Oh…” his voice turned softer now. I wasn’t sure what I hated worse, the anger or the pity, “Well what about your mother? Or how about getting a job to pay for everything?”

“My mom works just enough to afford alcohol and our pathetic excuse for an apartment and I can’t legally work for another year. Stealing was the only option ok?”

“Ok, we can work with that.”

“What?” My eyes shot open, confusion evident.

“If we explain your situation, perhaps the judge will let your testimony stand.”

“Oh…” I was relieved, I guess, but mostly just tired. I really hated courtrooms. Getting up I got the nod of approval from Robert and headed home for some well deserved sleep.

---

Unfortunately my much needed sleep was cut short by a loud pounding on the door. Glancing at my newly acquired watch, I soon learned it was way past the normal visiting hours, that was; if anyone ever actually visited us. Apparently my mother didn’t realize what ungodly hour it was; to her it was all the same.

“Ayden! Get out here right now!” Her tone of voice suggested a slow reaction was out of the question. I ruefully entered the next room, rubbing my eyes to adjust to the light.

I didn’t like our visitor, and clearly neither did my mother. She was in that stance again, glaring at me as if the man’s appearance was all my fault. Ok…so maybe it was, but it wasn’t like I was thrilled to see him.

It was the stupid lawyer from earlier, the one defending the cop. He was still wearing that immaculate thousand dollar suit (which was probably why my mother hated him so much, besides the fact that he was a man) and looking slightly uncomfortable. His discomfort brought me a small amount of pleasure. Serves him right.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, another sign of nerves that made me smile inwardly, “Ayden, I have a proposition for you.”

“What?” I crossed my arms, the universal sign for “piss off.”

Without speaking he opened his briefcase, revealing stacks of hundred dollar bills. My jaw dropped in shock. My mother on the other hand, shrieked and ran towards the money, practically drooling over it. The lawyer took a step back and closed the case.

“What’s the catch?”

“We want you to withdraw your testimony. Say that you saw Smith shoot Phil first and that he was only acting in self defense, but you lied because you happen to strongly dislike cops.”

“You want me to lie.”

“I think you’ll find it worth your while.”

“So I lie tomorrow and I get the money. That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I don’t think you understand-”

“I said I’ll think about it,” Finished, I walked back into my room and sat down. I heard the door close and I let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding. Taking a deep breath, I leaned my back against the wall, thinking hard. Unfortunately thinking is hard when you’ve got another person screaming at you.

“What the hell where you thinking? ‘I’ll think about it!’ You know how badly we need the money!” Her lack of morals amazed me sometimes.

“It’s wrong. His client killed a man and he’s trying to buy his way out of prison.”

“Who cares why he’s doing it. This could be our big break. You and me, in a real home again, with a real life. Don’t you want that?”

“Maybe.” At this my mother spat on the ground and threw me a disgusted look before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Truth is I did want all the things she had said, I wanted it very badly. I would never get it though, my mother would commandeer the money and chances are I would never see it again; it would all get wasted on the poison that she insisted on drinking. She would never be like the mother I had before, and we would never live a “real life.” It was a hard thought to digest, but then again reality was never easy.

---

Mrs. Smith was crying this time; there was no stopping the flood. Her two kids were young, but they too felt the pain of their loss. Tearstains stained their reddened cheeks as they tried to look grown-up in their dressy clothes.

I once again found myself on the bench. The judged seemed to take pity on me, and even the jury seemed to view me with a different light. It was unsettling to put it mildly. I hated pity, it’s not like I felt sorry for myself. Sure, the situation sucked, but I survived. I was still young, maybe once day things will change. But people don’t think like that. They see me and say “oh poor dear, such a tragic story” and then go on with their lives. Momentary pity like that made me sick.

Or maybe that was the nerves trying to tell me something.

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god?”

“I do,” I glanced over at the defendant and his lawyer at these words. I then proceeded to retell my account of what happened, staring at the defendant while I did so. It was nice to see his face lose its smugness and start to take on a slightly worried expression. I hope Mrs. Smith noticed the change. I hope it gave her some small measure of comfort to know that her husband’s murderer would pay the price.

After my testimony I left the courtroom, stopping only to lock eyes with the know-it-all lawyer. He saw me as a poor kid he could use to advantage. He never saw me as a person who knew right from wrong, he never saw me as a girl just trying to make it in this world. I smiled openly at his stupidity before leaving the court room for good.

---

I never did find out why the cop killed the man, nor did I ever ask. That wasn’t as important to me as the simple fact that he did murder him. It was a clear case of what was right and what was wrong, and he was wrong. His motives were his own business to ponder over.

My mother stopped talking to me after the trial. In her eyes I had betrayed her, had robbed her of her happiness. She never realized that fancy clothes and a nice house didn’t make happiness it was something different altogether, something that had nothing to do with material goods or money. It was intangible and almost undetectable.

For me happiness was living up to my own standards. No fancy clothes or picture perfect life needed. What can I say? I like the simple life.