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Rustling leaves, howling wind and a young soul running the streets of Manhattan. Blood covered hands, hoodie on and a quick pair of legs. The sirens start in the near distant, as the legs move quicker towards the ally way considered “home”. Living on the streets is not as notorious as kids portray it.

One of my worst crimes was committed today, for a reason that will be explained later. Months of planning had led to tonight is all I am going to start with, you can be a detective and figure out the rest. I dare you too, take my fingerprint even.

Now that you have my fingerprint, let us continue… or start from the beginning.

Chilly wind blowing, tiny flakes falling and a cardboard box laying on the ground. My head meets the cardboard box, my body meets the chilly wind and my tongue meets the tiny flakes falling. Yes, this is the place I call home, the dumpsters over there if you are hungry. That area with all the flies is called the sewer if you would like something to drink. See that empty dark spot over there, that was where the person who was bugging me lived. Don’t overstep your welcome or you know where you’ll end up.

“Oi, you over there in the hoodie, get ya ass over here”, the Stranger called.

“Why don’t you come into my house?”, I replied.

“Nah mate, I got something I want to talk to you bout’”, he replied.

As I walked towards this stranger, I was quite hesitant and uptight. He was wearing a black coat with many holes, he had no shoes on, it appears he had some sort of soot or dust on his face. His hair was dishevelled. Basically, not what you would call prince charming.

My heart was pounding, as I didn’t know if this was one of those mysterious, undercover detectives or just a genuine slob from another ally way. As I approached him, he said, “I was just wondering if you had a cigarette”. My jaw literally dropped and my face turned automatically sour. “No I don’t mate,” I replied. Can you believe people these days? I thought to myself as I walked back towards my “bed”. This is one of the reasons that someone’s life ended last night.

Another day passed, and there I stood within the park where the whole situation unfolded. Two days on and I still haven’t been confronted. I can see all the yellow police tape around the dull playground. Don’t worry guys, I am not a sicko, I did not kill a child, who do you think I am? I can see all the detectives in the distant looking for the clues, to which I probably left as I am not a genius.

Regret is all I feel now. Do I feel bad for the way I lashed out? I thought to myself as I starred at the red and white bricks. No, I don’t feel bad. I don’t feel regret but I don’t feel bad. Everyone thinks the worst part of killing someone is the thought that they meant something to someone, but that’s the easy part, the hard part is hiding from those pesky police officers and FBI agents. Gosh do I have a speech for them…

The person was young and dumb to say the least. He had blonde hair, a ripped pair of track suite pants and a shirt with holes. He kept warm using a brown woollen blanket which I donated him (you should give to the poor, you know). He always had this dark aura about him, he never had appreciation when people felt sorry for him or when kids would smile at him. He just always had a frown on his sooty face, his brown eyes made him look even more unappreciative.

I got up from my “bed”, I put the hoodie on. I walked out of my




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