The Hard Way

What is life when all sanity is lost?
What is life when there is no life to live?
What is life when the everything is against you?

Jacob is homeless.

You probably see him everyday... sitting there... with that dark realization of fear. With no food, water and no place to call home, he sets off on a journey, venturing the dystopian and ragged corners of society. He braves the elements, his own childhood, and the world is out to bring him down.

Jacob is homeless, it ain't no fairytale...


1. Jacob

The art of stealing is inevitably profitable, maybe, but the life of a stealer, a thief if you please, is a life not worth living. In the eyes of the sane, the eyes of the educated, my addiction is nothing but futile. Nevertheless I am still alive, healthy in all aspects, but a stealer I am, and a stealer I will stay… Metaphorically I’m dead; a lost soul; a lost hope. I stand as a lost traveler, frantically finding my way through a mental maze of my own fears. People see me, and I see me. I see them. I see my ragged clothes; my matted hair; my foul sanity. Oh well; that’s life, for me. I ‘died’ years ago, but I still long for the sanity and hope of the people I see. But do they care? No. But I still run. I run from anything that reminds me of my past, my downfall. I still run if it kills me, and ‘killed me’ it did. I lost everything, and that’s all I need to say. That is all I will ever need to say.

I live amongst the shadows. You will never see me. I never want to see me… I feed off the darkness that lingers by night. I feed off the invisibility that the darkness emanates. I am a rogue, a rebel, to my kind. My family and my friends abandoned me, the drunken lout that crouches precariously outside any public house he finds. Unintentionally, drugs and tobacco will never surpass me.  Stay stubborn my ‘dad’ would say, but that was all I heard of him; that was all I heard of him while he was sober... I’d repeat it to myself, attempting to give an impression so people would avoid me in the streets. Charities, religious groups and police have messed with my life. But I got away. Like I said, I steal! By day I beg and steal. By night I beg and steal. Homelessness has never been a problem with me apart from being mugged, arrested and kicked out of any shop I go to. I am destitute. Anyway, that was years ago, and years ago is where I will start the tale of me.

I crouched under the window of the bakery. Harry and Razor, as we called him because of his love of blade weaponry, were by the window as well, pretending to be potential buyers. Stephen sat across the street with a revolver tucked into his jacket. I chuckled to myself. This was going to be easy. No one was left in the bakery except for the sweaty baker himself. The baker was nicknamed ‘Highroller’ for cracking an annoying customer’s skull with his rolling pin… Oh well I thought, I’ve done this many times before. I beckoned, and Harry and Razor entered the shop, picking up four loaves of bread from a shelf. The sweaty was undeterred by their entrance, still busily kneading dough. Stephen was already advancing across the quiet road; so far so good. This was just the beginning…

No one knows where Stephen got his revolver; no one knows if knows if he knows how to use it. When we, all three of us, ask him about it, he just notes how he inherited it. We just wave this remark off. We know he doesn’t have any relatives to inherit off. Anyway, what we did know was that it could blow a hole through thick metal… One shot was fired and the large front window of the bakery shattered. Harry and Razor sprinted out, handing one of the loaves to me and the other to Stephen, who was busily reloading the revolver. The baker lurched out of the shop, swinging his rolling pin like a club in a berserk frenzy. I was silently watching from round the corner and smiled. If this was too easy, what would be easy? Harry, Razor and Stephen had vanished, ready to be called upon again later. The baker was now moaning to himself, wildly fretting about the shards of glass that were scattered all over the pavement.

No one would ever catch me; I am the brains of the operation. I’m one of the invisible people see?

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