Another day that ends with an empty stomach, I did not see anyone reaching out to me today. Being an orphan in the streets of Port-au-Prince, you manage to forget your human condition; it's sometimes being the dominated animal who gets sodomized for a few bucks and, in other circumstances, being the predator who slits a throat or pulls a trigger, while not giving a damn about the life we're stealing, but see only the few tickets guaranteeing a hot meal and sometimes a game of legs in the air with the whores of the shantytown.
I'm 14 soon to be 15 at midnight tonight. I like to say that I was born in the street, which is a fact because I left behind on a bench in a hospital. From the age of 5, I had to manage on my own to survive, because the orphanage where I was at the time used us rather than helping us. I started by begging and soon realized that the face of a starving child was too common a sight to move the ordinary Haitian. During this period, I was martyred by the oldest in the street and at 7 years of age, I began to be sodomized for a hot dish; hot dish is also a generous expression because for my unfortunate 50 gourdes, I was given just enough not to die while still being hungry. The rare times that luck smiled on me, that I fell on a wealthy pervert ready to give a little of his wallet to satisfy his vices, it ended really badly for my ass. At 10 years old, I decided to become the predator now I stole everything I found and I even ended up coming into possession of a 9mm stolen from a police officer who was coldly murdered by one of my fortunate companions. With this 9 mm everything became easier for me for a while I took what I wanted by force. Society did not want me and I did not ask to be born; so I made the decision to piss off this society that stole everything from my innocence to my human condition; I have killed, raped and done so many other horrible things that you wouldn't believe me. I won't ask forgiveness for that, not even from God. There, on my deathbed in the state hospital with three prunes in my body draining my blood, I regret nothing and I curse this land that damned me from my first breath of life.
Why death does not come. It's strange I feel myself becoming more alive but I'm a little cold…no damn cold…hell should be hot no, I won't be surprised that the stupid believers are all wrong about the weather that he does in hell. I open my eyes to find myself in the hospital morgue, all my wounds were gone and my clothes with them. A zombie is the first thing that crossed my mind, but I have never heard a zombie get cold and think freely. Someone had just opened the door of this freezing centenary used as a morgue and I did not need to be asked to fall on him to my great astonishment my punch sent him waltzing too far for my taste I realized that my strength had tenfold I was living on the streets but I had interviewed enough movie to know I was not okay something was wrong did I become a super zombie. Without asking for my rest, I undressed the newcomer and slipped away, the 12 strokes of midnight accompanied me in my escape.