Nameless. She has been nameless and stateless for three seasons. She was born with a name and an identity, once a upon a time, but sadly she possess none, here on the isolated dangerous streets. The colossal city with it’s twisted concrete jungles and monstrous fast-paced roads do not offer comfort nor does it quench her ever-growing thirst and hunger. Sometimes she feels alone, helpless against the city dwellers, and hiding from the predators – they prowl so often; yet fear is something she cannot afford, not now, not ever. Many merely ignore her, despite the obvious loneliness and her pitiful appearance; while others glare cruelly or spit, or both, at her.
Her bruised feet hurts, a couple of cruel weeping blisters, blood-red to the skin. She ignores them, as always, she has other things to worry about – more pressing matters. The rumbling of her empty stomach, she hasn’t eaten all day, and it hurts. Picking up rotten scraps from the foul rubbish bin doesn’t count. Her throat hurts, sore and dry. Drinking from the rusted pipes was making her ill.
She brushes aside the weeping thoughts, she has to find food and clean water amidst the sprawling city that boast hundreds of restaurants and shops. She has to find someone who was willing to look her in the eye and take pity on her. She just needed a few notes and coins. She needs to eat, she is hungry and sick.