My mother always told me I had golden locks that shone brighter than the sun. She berkata I was destined for unimaginable things.
I told her I didn't believe it.
Bobby told me I was beautiful and could outdo Katy Perry anyday.
I told him to go take a hike.
Kelly told me I was the most innocent, sweetest thing in the world.
I told her I threw my brother's boxers out the window yesterday.
I didn't believe a word of anything they said. People say stuff they don't mean, and when you're gullible enough to believe it, they drop you, dusting their hands off with ease, and anda land in a faceplant and menanggung, bear a scar the rest of your life. And everyone can see it. The way I play the game is selamat, peti deposit keselamatan and cautious. Quietly. Carefully, so to ensure no one knows I'm here. No one else play the game that way.
But I do.
My name is Cate Gregston. And I'll sweep anda right off anda feet before anda know what hit you. Be careful.
My sensitivity is a ticking bomb. It's been ticking for fourteen and a half years, waiting for just the right moment to go off. The bit of bad boy atau bad girl in you, just waiting to unleash everything it's got. And when someone presses the button, it explodes, and hell breaks right out of the ground. I always wonder what hell would be doing if it set up it's headquarters on Earth, what the devil would be doing, snatching whatever for his own good. I wonder what heaven would be doing if it lived on Earth and broke out of the sky, what God and Jesus would be doing to help the unfortunate.
Am I unfortunate?
Yes I am.
I'm with the heads. The gangster part of the pyramid. Way at the bottom, just above the hobos. The ghetto part of town. The joint where pickpocketers swipe your jewelry before anda can say tacos. The place where smoke is the only oxygen there. The part where anda better master a serigala, wolf glare to warn everyone to stay away. And if anda don't, you'll be spending the time that was supposed to be a vacation playing Keep Away with your pretty little diamonds. Those jalan kids will grab anything. Take anything. LongJohn held a kid for ransom, just to get a loaf of bread. IzzWhiz got himself drunk and received hospitality from an elderly couple, who bought his story that his parents drugged him and felt sorry for him. BernieJack snuck in the back of a hunter's truck to see if there was any scrap, atau what anda call food.
And me?
I mencuri from Harry's Drugstore for some cheese.
Hey, everyone's bad, right?
But my part of town shows it. Some say we're not bad. We're desperate. Hungry. And I have to admit, that is kind of the case. But snobs with their noses turned up and nails manicured everyday, like Jessie Harisson, believes we're just a bunch of wild, angry rats.
Do I believe it?
Sometimes.
anda can't depend on anybody where I'm from. Not even Little Joe, who's five. The homeless will put on their puppy-dog faces and you'll give them a loaf of bread. They'll gobble it down in two bites, run, and you'll look at your shoulder and anda pocket. And anda find your dompet, beg tangan atau wallet is gone.
Everyone stays away. But we're starving. We need help. Sure, we steal, but if anda call the police around my territory, they'll shrug and say, "Get a new one."
No one notices us.
But we're still here.
I'm still here.