Payback

Who: Pepper
Where: Sixth Street Bridge
When: The wee small hours

Pepper was curled up in a small ball within the wooden crate that served as her bed, a couple of dirty ragged blankets her only bedding. It wasn’t much, but it was her home and she was rebuilding it. She’d used to have more, once upon a time. but then that man had come and evicted her, taken her spot, thrown her out and destroyed her stuff. She’d reclaimed it with the help of Dodge and his gang, and now, she was back, putting together a home once again, albeit on the streets.

She slept, feeling like she was back where she belonged. But it was an illusion, an illusion of safety, and it was an illusion that she should have seen through, but which she’d missed in her naivety. She’s thought herself safe under the bridge, that the other homeless and street people would look out for her, but they’d turned a blind eye before, let that guy throw her out and take her place without coming to her aid. And just like they’d stood by and let Dodge and his gang humiliate the man in return. She’d explained it away, but she should have known - nobody was there to help her.

He came in the night, moving through the darkness and grabbing her even whilst she was sleeping. He hauled her from her pathetic excuse for a home by her neck, throwing her out onto the cobbles of the street without a word. She fell badly, striking her head on the ground, stunned before she could even cry out. Fuzzily, she watched the man approach her, seeing his booted feet and his legs in dark pants because she couldn’t raise her head to look at his face. She was aware of other people around - there was never a time under the bridge when everyone was sleeping - but nobody came to her aid. Nobody wanted to intervene. She heard the words as if from a distance. They didn’t all connect. He spoke about how little girls needed to be taught a lesson; how she wasn’t so brave without her friends. How they wouldn’t be able to help her this time. They’d never be able to help her again.

She was pulled to her feet, and she hit out, her right fist coming round to pummel at the man, but her head was still spinning and her reactions slow and anyway, he’d been expecting it. He hefted her up, bodily, lifting her off the ground and throwing her over his shoulder. She beat at him, kicked with her legs, knees, trying to break his nose, get his kidney’s, anything. And she screamed, but nobody came. People looked the other way. Nobody wanted to get involved. Because this time, the man was the one with the friends. Other men, armed with bats and more. One little girl wasn’t going to cause any trouble - but this little girl had friends.

Friends who were absent. And friends who were never going to find her. They’d make sure of that. Once they’d had their fun, of course.

And, after all, what was one missing street kid. The papers probably wouldn’t even report the body, should it ever be found.