Walking Away

She walked down the pebbled path with the lightest steps possible, her feet freezing and bloody from being barefoot. Her thin dress blew around her knees in the wind. Dirt was now part of her body; she couldn't remember the last time she showered...not counting the rain.

She was tiny for her 12 years. Homeless at the age of 5. She knew downtown London off by heart.

Turn right at the brown post with a white spot then walk about 10 paces and take a sharp left into the dark alleyway. Knock three times on the door of a shabby hut at the end of the alley. It couldn't be classified as a house. It was too small, too weather beaten,too lost looking.

Against the cold she breathed on her blue coloured hands. Like her feet, they were cold sore. Her left hand infected from filth. Lips cracked and dry, cheeks an unhealthy shade of red and blue. Winter was a slow death penalty for her. What had she ever done to deserve this?

They are always there. At the brown post with the white spot. They always watched. She never looked however, for fear that they might come for her.

"Where does she go?" the taller man asked his colleague after the little girl, barely wearing cloths, walked past. The two men were from the factory, simply outside for a smoke while break was on. They watched the little girl everyday walk past. It was well into winter, the cold found their bones easy crawling through their coats and hats.

The second man shrugged. "Only the good Lord knows what she gets up to", he replied.

"Pickpocket", suggested the first.

The second drew in his smoke deeply then blew out with a slight pause.


"Perhaps, you never know with them slum girls, she could, you know, sell."

The first snorted with laughter. "You're dirty. She'd be only 11, 12 most".

"Old enoungh reckon", the second chewed on the end of his cigar.

She walked down the alleyway with caution. Her feet stung with pain, whincing with every step she took in deep freezing cold breaths. Reaching the door she knocked three times, the door was answered, she entered. Grabbing a dirty pouch from the lone coat hanger, she signed off with Jos, the man in charge of her. Her boss.

"Ah now, today my dear, I'm wanting anything...silver! That means watches or nice necklaces that a kind rich lady keeps in her pocket." Jos was mid-20's, young and handsome but homeless all the same. She never had much to do with him but every morning he instructed her in what he was looking for.

She walked out the door and headed for the main street. It was lunchtime, it was easy to tell, the baker was out the front of his shop eating. Holding her breath she squeezed herself into the mad hustle and bustle of workmen, bankers, shopkeepers and families out on a lunchtime stroll.

She needed someone rich, with a large coat with pockets big enough to slip her small, aching hands in. There he was. She walked quickly over, her feet stinging with pain that her eyes watered.

Break was nearly over.

"If she was a pickpocket and she was caught, it would be the gallows for her wouldn't it?" The first man put out his cigar, breathing out the last of his smoke.

"Of course" said the second, turning back for the factory. The first man pulled his coat firmer around himself. He felt for the little girl. Both her and her clothes were getting thinner and thinner, and he wondered how she would survive the winter.

No-one ever noticed her in the main street. That's what she liked about it so much. She was able to walk through all these people without one person looking down their nose at her. But that didn't stop her from glancing around quickly before softly slipping her hand into a pocket.

Slide in carefully; don't go down too hard, he might feel it. Her hands wrapped around the chain of the pocket watch. People pushed on her making her so close to her victim, her breath shaky, she raised her hand gently. Yes! She got it; it was so shiny and heavy, brand new even!

It was at that unfortunate moment, she slipped on the ice covered path crashing into the back of her victim. He turned to find a filthy little girl on the ground, her small fingers wrapped around his shiny new pocket watch.

"I'd walk away from it all, you know, just jump the fence and start a new life somewhere else", the first man said at their usual spot the next day at break. The second again just laughed.

"You don't get it, do ya?"

"What's there to get?"

The second lit a large cigar and inhaled deeply.

"She can't just walk away. She was born this way, and she'll die that way!"

The first stood silent for a few moments, realising that the little girl hadn't walked past today. She'd be somewhere. She'd be alright.

She stood up onto the stool. A beast of a man, his face hidden by a black balaclava
placed the rope over her head and around her small neck. Her hands shivered behind her back as she faced a reasonably large crowd.

"Anything you want to say before leaving us?" the beast man growled as if this was taking up his time.

She lifted her head. "I never had the chance before, and now I do. I'm walking away from this and never coming back."

She lowered her head and looked at her frost bitten feet as the stool fell away from beneath her.

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