Descent

I wrapped my arms around my body, closing myself with my blanket tightly against the frigid city air. My parka added little comfort to the concrete I sat upon. The only sign that I was alive was my shivering and my bright green eyes peering out at passing strangers. No one looked at me when they walked by, but stared ahead, trained not to make eye contact with me. As the clock tower a few blocks down rang out eleven o’clock, I pulled my blanket over my head in an attempt to create a space of warmth. It didn’t help.

My hair is a hazelnut-brown, in a haircut that is too short for the weather. I was seventeen at the time, and had a thin, tall build. For a month I had been wandering the streets and sleeping next to buildings or park benches. I had nowhere to go, and I bought cheap food from venders with change I begged from people. I was starving and desperately needed food. My stomach growled and I gasped softly from the pain. A few feet away I heard the sound of someone in hurry; they ran carelessly, probably to catch a subway. I poked out my head and saw the man run by, followed by his wallet falling onto the walk. Nobody else saw it but me. I could have yelled out to him. Instead I groped for it, quickly tucking it away. There was only twenty dollars inside.

It lasted me about a week.

…

As I threw the napkin from my last meal away, the last three dollars felt heavy in my pocket. Cheap hotdogs wouldn’t be available for much longer, and I needed a new way of getting food. Begging didn’t really seem to work, and what little money I did make was soon stolen when I looked away. I needed a new way of getting food, and there was nothing that could be done legally.

I thought of an old antique store nearby; I had once looked around out of boredom and an empty stomach. I recalled a shelf of cheap knives of adequate size. I took the three dollars out of my pocket and looked at them carefully. My hand clenched, shuddering at the thought.

No one would be hurt.

…


For three dollars, the quality of the knife was impressive. The handle was a perfect fit for my palm, and made of smooth leather; easy to hold. Its dark color contrasted nicely with the shiny blade. The blade was not thick, and practically glistened. I could see that it was remarkably sharp. I sat on the park bench admiring it. It was late and I was alone. The sun was low in the sky, giving a dark orange glow to the buildings around me. It was quite beautiful, but I had something else at hand. I had to test it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. Hurriedly, I tucked the knife out of site under my jacket, but saw that my only company was a squirrel. It was fixed on a chunk of bread under the bench. It must have been very hungry for it was only two yards away. It peered up at me and then down at the bread. It inched closer, watching for signs of hostility. I didn’t move at first, but when it was convinced I would not harm it, I slowly pulled the knife back into vision. It didn’t notice; its attention was undivided from its meal, and it nibbled in a rushed manner.

I leaned forward carefully, doing my best to not move my legs. The wooden bench did not creak, yet when my arm was almost ready, the squirrel froze. Immediately I lunged, aiming for its small head. The head snapped upwards just before the knife made contact, just missing its ears and burying itself into the creature’s back. The squirrel seemed to make a futile attempt at a squeal, but it never reached audibility.

It’s amazing how desperate situations can drive animals to do dangerous things.

…

My stomach tormented me, sending waves of shock and pain through my body. I had put this off for too long. I had had multiple opportunities, but I never took advantage of them. I needed to get money now.

I waited in an alleyway. It led, after a few turns, into another street and was a convenient route for many people. It was past one in the morning, so there was a great lack of people around. I could barely see the opposite wall from behind the box I hid next to, even though my eyes were well adjusted. My knife was gripped tightly in my hand, slick with sweat in defiance of the twenty degree weather.

I don’t know precisely how long I waited; my closest guess would be only fifteen minutes, yet my heart pounded in anticipation and impatience the whole time. When someone did finally appear, it was all I could do to not yelp in surprise.

It was a short man, not particularly strong looking. He seemed agitated; possibly annoyed that he was late and had to deviate from his normal route. He didn’t carry anything, but his suit suggested moderate wealth. His face was shaven and round, boasting small, scowling eyes. I waited until he had passed me before springing out, my excitement almost knocking him over. I placed my left hand on his shoulder, while my right poised the knife to his neck. He froze instantly, and started to breathe quickly.

It took some effort to coerce my voice out from my dry throat, but I managed to rasp, “Where is your wallet?” There was no answer, so I asked again with more conviction. “Where is your wallet?”

The man paused for a second before managing in a shaking voice, “Take it easy kid…”

I tightened my grip on his shoulder and spoke more aggressively. “Tell me where your wallet is!”

Trembling, the man cried out, “I don’t have it on me!”

My anger was beginning to build. I rammed him against the wall and looked him in the face while the knife remained at his neck. I could only manage to gasp heavily as I smelled his sweat mixed in with the scent of his suit.

His eyes bugged out of his head as he panicked. He screamed, grabbing at my arm.

With a cry of fury, I lashed out.

His arms relaxed, and he raised his hand to a bleeding throat, uttering a soft gurgle. He collapsed.

He had lied of course. His wallet contained seventy eight dollars.

…

A small time passed before I walked out into the street. I looked in the reflection of a store window. Back stared the dull expression of muddy brown eyes.

I tucked the knife in my jacket and walked away.