One hundred and sixteen: Hot soup

Carefully eating the hot soup I had obtained from a kind soup kitchen for homeless people like me, I watched the nice people who still somewhat cared for shadow people like me. They didn't wrinkle their noses at how bad I must smell, nor did they make any judgment when I refused to talk. They just smiled and spoke cheerfully, giving me as much good, hot and tasty soup as the plastic bowl could take. I squatted at the edge of the small public square near the bushes, ready to run the moment I saw any uniforms. The uniforms generally didn't turn up on soup day, so I reckoned it should be a relatively quiet day today.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I had ignored the fact that a lousy bunch of no-good youth had wandered into the square and were mocking everyone they saw. By the time I did notice them, it was too late. The soup kitchen table had been upturned and the soup spilt across the rough tiles. There was a sharp pain in my side from where I'd just been kicked and I lay there watching the soup creeping through the cracks in the tiles. My bag had been upended and all my computer pieces were being examined, smashed and thrown around.

"What's all this stuff for?" one youth with the stubbly cheeks of a boy who was only just learning to grow facial hair. "Making a bomb? Maybe she's a Bosky terrorist?"

"They're computer parts, you idiot," his friend with a red beanie snorted. "It's much more likely she's a thief. Look at how many hard drive disks she's been carrying. And these - these are the most expensive parts of any computer."

"Whatever," Stubblycheek rolled his eyes and kicked me again, when I had been trying to creep away into the bushes. "I reckon she's a Bosky spy. We get rewards if we report Bosky spies. We should take her with us and turn her in."

"She stinks," another youth in black leather sauntered over, holding his nose. "I wouldn't touch her to bring her in, even if she was one. Who knows where she's been or what diseases she's got?"

At that, the rest of the gang crowded around me, allowing the rest of the people in the square to flee. They examined and destroyed all my hard work, while kicking me around until someone found some old fencing rails to hit me with instead. They shouted taunts and jeered at me until a bunch of police appeared, twirling their batons.

I wiped my eyes and crawled into the bushes to hide while the youth were surrounded and reprimanded. They listened with rebellious taunts and snide remarks. Then left the area with some firm words from those who knew to lay down the law. They should have arrested the brats to teach them a lesson, but who cares about homeless cockroaches like me? The bush was not thick enough to hide me and while the police appeared busy with the youth, I crept out the other side. I was startled to find a uniformed man already there, waiting for me. I'd missed one.

Leaping back, a sharp pain lanced through my right ankle and gave way beneath me. Still, I scrambled back toward the wall of the building and wincing, pulled myself back up with a hurry and started edging away from the police officer who was trying to calm me down and holding a hand out toward me.

Turning to dart around the corner, all the injuries I had just gathered made a huge clamour, dropping me to the ground with a groan.

"It's all right. It's okay," the policeman squatted down and held a hand out carefully as if I were a wild animal. And rightly so, because I was eyeing him out the corner of my eyes as if he were an enemy. I couldn't escape. He was one of those people who would and probably could drag me back out of my self-imposed exile and make my old identity come back to life. "You're injured. We should get you to the hospital. Get you seen to."

I shook my head, more and more emphatically the more he tried to cajole me. Drawing my legs up and away from his reach, he suddenly looked to one side and cleared his throat. Then I remembered. I had no underwear on under this worn out dress. I have to say. Underwear are not easy to find while you're scavenging. My last pair had worn itself into unusable rags. After having survived without underwear for so long during the war, it wasn't like I felt the need for it now. It may not be healthy, but I hadn't had a period since the Compound had closed when the war had first ramped up. So… as the young folk on the internet say these days… meh.

In realising that, I re-angled my legs so that the policeman would be spared the sight of my dirty underparts. When I tried to stand again, I found I couldn't. So, I went with the next best option, which was part crawling and part dragging myself. I didn't get far. The pain was too much. I wouldn't have been surprised if the beating I had just taken had broken some bones.

"Hey, anyone seen the homeless lady that was getting beaten?"

"Where's Corben? Hey, Corben, where you at?"

The policeman in front of me stood up to call the others over and I tried to make some headway. The furthest I could convince myself to go was the doorway of an abandoned building, where I huddled in the shadows.

"Here! I'm here. The lady's injured. She can't walk and can barely stand. Someone call an ambulance."

"Where is she?"

I could hear some police officers talking to the soup people about what had happened. Other policemen were picking up my computer parts.

"Oh, here, I found her," said the officer called Corben from over my head. "Careful. She's scared."

"Poor thing. She's all skin and bones."

I kept my eyes on the concrete between my knees, following the squiggles and cracks with my eyes. Heaving a deep sigh that caught partway, because it hurt too much and made tears spring to my eyes, I hunched my shoulders a little deeper. I would have to let them take me to the hospital. Broken bones, besides the ribs, might need seeing to. If anything else was broken. My ankle had ballooned up something big and I couldn't put any weight through it anymore. Straightening it on the ground, I could feel the pain growing in pressure and heat, until I was dripping with perspiration. If I couldn't walk again, I might as well throw myself off the top of a building. The other pains began to burn with unholy fire as well now, joining together with the pain from my ankle. There was nowhere to go or hide from the pain.

"Hey, hey," a hand touched me lightly on the shoulder. I flinched, banging into the closed door and squeak-groaned. "Sorry. Sorry. Hang in there. The ambulance is coming. What's your name, lady?"

I didn't bother answering him. I'd gone without a name since the end of the war. I didn't need a name. What did a name bring that I didn't already have, anyway? There was no benefit to having a name known. All I wanted was to live my own life quietly. Peacefully.

"We got all the pieces we could find." My bag filled with my computer parts was placed beside me. "I'm sorry, but I think most of the pieces are broken."