Not Like Fairy tales

September 1, 2011 by: Guest 13

Tweet

Her vehement voice woke me up from my sweetest dream. Now, I have no choice but to face the mere reality. Far from life of the characters in a fairytale, my story seems don’t have a happy ending. From my bed, I gently walk down the stairs, like a prince being introduced to many visitors and beautiful women who are wishing to be my wife. The stairs that I am tracking are only five steps to take unlike the stairs in some rich movies that can be compared to a railway. Still the monstrous voice of the wicked woman echoing around the dome. This voice signalizing for another struggle under the scorching heat of the sun. Walking alone, I am a wanderer, finding my comfort zone as if the place was that comfortable.

Sitting beside my crowded fellow, they are already devouring the limited foods prepared by the woman. It doesn’t look like nutritious, too far from the product endorsed by some famous celebrities posted in a wide paper. And the moment I hold the spoon I started to full myself with our unsatisfying meal. In every bite, every chew and every swallow I could hardly taste it, but still I have to consumed it even just a little for my stomach must have any to digest. And there she go again, those voice, those irritating voice that keeps on barking while we are still masticating the food in our mouth. Everybody is done but I think no one in my companions were satisfied, everybody is ready but I think no one in my companions were happy.

Another day in the sidewalks, another day where my skin will be cooked by the sunlight again, well I am getting used to it. Now I could barely remember when was the first time I started begging for alms in the lazy streets. I am a jolly child once, with a complete family who guides me and who cares for my feelings but one tragedy have changed it all. My cheerful and almost perfect life became a series of unfortunate events. My mother and my father died in a serious car accident and because I don’t know any immediate relatives I became a vagabond and a nobody walking by the street with a big whole in my stomach. Until that afternoon where a woman with joy in her eyes asked me to go with her. Just when I thought those are just pretending.

I became a beggar of a syndicate. Where we children, at a very young age were forced to asked a little charity to those people who are passing and willing to give their help for our hungry mouths and buzzing stomachs. Some of us tried to escape this life of prison but still no one ever break loose to this hell- like structure Gaol. After a day of wandering under the heat of the sun we went back to be jailed again. Giving the money we have earned in begging for alms we hurriedly got our plates clean for our suffer. Chew, swallow, chew, swallow until the very last piece. I was contented for very first time. Holding my completely filled stomach I rush to my bed of newspaper on the cold floor. Now, I am dreaming of impossible again, just wishing but I guess it won’t come true. Her vehement voice is echoing again in the whole building and another day of struggle for me.