When I woke up, the other side of my bed was cold. My fingers stretched out, seeking Palla's warmth but finding only the wet canvas of the mattress. I must have looked sad. I always did.
I laid in my mattress for a few more moments, inhaling the musty smell of the alley. It wasn't pleasant. The air was chilly, it must have still been morning. Water dripped to my left, its splashes muffled by the soft fabric of the abandoned mattress I was on.
I propped myself to an elbow. The day was new, and it was dark. The average person wouldn't be able to see through this veil of darkness, but I could. Maybe it was my years of experience on the streets. Or it could be my eyes.
My eyes caught a puddle of water. Two sea-green, eerie eyes peered back. Eyes like a hollow trunk. Glowing orbs in the dark. I had had them for as long as I could remember. I liked them at first, I thought they were cool.
But others didn't have the same thoughts. They saw something unknown, weird, a freak. They didn't like them. I slipped off the mattress, my feet landing on the puddle. I didn't either.
I fanned my shirt in hopes of drying it. Small droplets of water flew everywhere. But it felt just as heavy as before. After a few seconds of futile fanning, I gave up and walked out of the alleyway.
There was no one. All soundly asleep. As though not a care in the world. Fresh food on their plates when they wake up. Comfy clothes that wrap around their skin in a warm embrace. Loving parents who gave them anything they needed.
The streetlights were off. Possibly because it was nearing morning. I only had to cross a few streets to reach the line of bungalows. Separating the arrogant rich from the average was a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire loops. In theory, it was supposed to act as a deterrent to keep mongrels like me out.
But it didn't do its job very well. The few people who took care of it had long given up; It was simply too long. It was in an almost eternal state of disrepair, kept only barely presentable. Normally, they would still be patrolled by security guards. But like I said, the rich are arrogant.
Hidden in a clump of leaves, I flattened my body and slid under an opening dug beneath the fence a few dozen meters from the street. It must have been broken through by people because it had been dug through the earth. There were a number of these entrances, but this one was the closest to me, so I nearly always used this one.
I looked out of place here, among the pristine white buildings and flamboyant flora. Like a cockroach among butterflies. The smell out here wasn't much better. It reeked of richness.
I lurked in the outskirts for a few minutes. I saw another boy in the distance. Unkempt hair. Black bag slung over a hunched back. He was at the front door of a house, fumbling with the door's lock. I wondered if he was in the same circumstances as I was.
Averting my gaze from him, my eyes caught a pristine white house, similar to the other houses. But this one looked tired. Grass in the lawn that hadn't been cut for months. Spots where the paint was peeling. Tightly sealed windows that probably hadn't been open in ages. With each day it lost a bit of itself. Just like me.
I sneaked towards the back of the building. Peering into the windows, a wave of anticipation mixed with anxiety hit me. Rich sofas. Rich food. Rich furniture. I wondered what kind of life existed behind those tightly sealed windows.
I placed my hands on one of the windows and tried to pry them open. They didn't budge. It seems its residents were smarter than the others. A wry smile creased my face as I looked at the door beside it. But not smart enough.
It was a key lock. And fortunately, lock-picking was one of the few skills I had. If they had gotten a digital lock. It would have been all but impossible for me to decipher their combination lock. It was the leading factor in my failed break-ins. Of course, there were many other ways to enter a building, but a frail boy like me with nearly nothing at his disposal could not even attempt them, much less succeed.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and felt something thin and sharp. Taking out the dilapidated hairpin, I got to work. It was difficult, maneuvering a thin and frail hairpin into the right places. Especially against these complex high-class locks. The average lock-picker wouldn't be able to succeed. But I was far from average.
With a click, the door was unlocked, and relief washed over me. Another thing I had worried about was automatic sensors. Thankfully, this house didn't have them. I turned the handle and entered the room. It was spacious., but I'd been in enough of these to not feel surprised.
I glided over the floor in search of valuables and dumped them into my bag. I only took what was valuable, yet could easily go unnoticed. Jewelry, electronics, and men's needs. They had too many to keep count, and men easily forget such mundane things.
My hands stopped at a picture stand. It held a picture of a girl in a lustrous gold dress. She had long, white hair, and had stormy grey eyes. Eyes similar to my sister's. Similar, but not, at the same time. Palla's were exuberant. The white-haired girl's were cold.
She was surrounded by what I could only assume was her parents. A defined gentleman and an elegant woman that stood beside her in the photo. Both shared the same stormy grey eyes, although neither had white hair like hers. I wondered how she got those. Dye, no doubt. I wrinkled my nose. The rich and their odd hair colors.
I turned away from the picture stand and continued searching. The disappearance of a picture-stand that held memories would surely attract suspicion.
By the time I'd searched through the entire house, my bag had almost been filled to the brim. A smile creased my lips. Maybe this would be enough for the doctors to cure Palla. It was wishful thinking, but deep down, I knew it was impossible. Her disease was special. It was unique. Nobody had seen it before, nor knew how to treat it. They only managed to slow down the rate at which it was consuming her.
But the cost of such maintenance was exorbitant. So I was left with no other option. Immorality or the corpse of my sister. I had to choose.
I shoved down a phone with excessive force and left the house from the way I came from. The sun was beginning to rise, and I needed to leave, fast. I locked the door with the hairpin and headed towards the opening. I wondered what these people did every day. How different were their lives from ours?
I looked towards the streets. They were starting to fill with people. Defined gentlemen in stylish suits, graceful women in elegant dresses, adorable children dressed like dolls. I didn't get it. How could they be so carefree when we were dying from starvation? While my sister was on the verge of death, barely held together by the chemicals that were injected into her veins daily.
As I emerged from the other side of the fence, I dragged the bag up from below me." The opening was too small for my bag and me to slip under at the same time. I covered the entrance with leaves. They dripped with water. This side of the fence smelt so much better.
Now all that remained was to sell my loot and present my earnings to the hospital for another few days of treatment.
As I took one last glance at the bubbly children, I thought of Palla. Compared to those children, she was infinitely better. She was radiant. She had doll-like features that would enrapture you, flowing hair that would bounce around whenever she jumped. A beaming smile that could pierce your heart. Until that day she came down with a harsh fever. Alone, with nobody to seek out, I brought her to the hospital.
The doctors promised that she would get better. She didn't. It only worsened as time passed. And soon, she was hospitalized. They said they could cure it. They said that it was only a fever. They said it wasn't a big deal.
They lied. Her condition didn't improve, even after months on the hospital bed. No matter what medicine, procedure, or surgery she underwent. It didn't improve. But even so, they came at a cost. Despite her constantly deteriorating condition, payment was due.
I had to make ends meet, or she would be kicked out. And if she was thrust back into the streets, with its bad conditions, she would undoubtedly succumb. It was harrowing. A homeless child like me had no way to make such exorbitant amounts of money…unless I found a new trade.
The wail of a siren shocked me back to reality. It seems that boy got caught. I hastened my footsteps. They would be crossing this street soon, lugging their prisoner down to the police station. I took a abrupt turn into the alleyway and stopped in front of a manhole and glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. Before lifting it and delving into the darkness below.
My feet landed on hard concrete. A disgusting smell wafted through the air, but I'd gotten familiar enough with the smell to not gag. The sewer was devoid of sludge and was almost completely dry. Water dripped from the ceiling, their splashes echoing throughout the tunnel. This was one of the many entrances to the black market Hebe.
I made my way through the tunnel, before I finally arrived in a spacious opening. The putrid smell was abruptly cut off, replaced by a hypnotizing scent. A scent that turned one's mind sluggish and prone to rash purchases. It should have been illegal. But this was Hebe.
If the officials had their way, they'd be scrambling to the illegal marketplace, rounding up its denizens like cattle. But that was impossible. Hebe's influence stretched far and wide, and nobody could afford to offend them. People say that once you've crossed Hebe, you might as well be one foot into the underworld.
I stopped in front of a pawn shop. More specifically, The Pawn Shop. It was the only place where you could sell things in here, disregarding the Auction. Why? Because they got rid of the competition.
The door's bells dinged as I entered. Nothing had changed. Dim lightbulbs that barely kept the place lit. Dilapidated shelves that covered the room, along with the trinkets that lined them. It was wholly unbefitting for the reputation the store held.
"Welcome," Hugh said , his gruff voice bouncing off the crumbling walls.
He was a boulder wearing tight-fitting clothes that accentuated his round belly. He said that it was fashionable. The ladies did not agree. His chair creaked as he looked up from his phone.
"Loot to sell?" He asked.
"Yes," I reply as I dumped my earnings onto the counter.
His hands slid over them, skillfully appraising their value. His belly flopped as he stood up for a better look.
"A thousand," He said as he dug up the bills and offered them to me.
I scowled. "That's not the rate we agreed on."
It was at least five times below market value.
He looked at me, face deadpan. "Rates change, kid. Take it or leave it."
The message was clear. The prices were non-negotiable, nor would I have the chance to sell them elsewhere. Another reason why The Pawn Shop remains in power; It was a monopoly.
I hesitated, before swiping the cash from his hand.
"And tell your sister I said hi," He said as I left the shop.
I clenched my fists. Desperately resisting the urge to storm back into the shop and cave the pig's face in. But I couldn't. I didn't want to risk losing my only source of income… not that my weak body would be able to hurt him. I wished he died. But if he did, so would Palla.
I glared at the shop, as though hoping that it would burst aflame. It was infuriating. Hugh knew about my sister's condition, so he never offered more than what was necessary, leaving me scrounging for more. Like a loyal dog that brought him food. A Mongrel.