⚘ (Short) Prologue ⚘
Every day is the same. Eyes dart to my dirt-ridden face, then to my gaze back at them. They look down at the ground guiltily as they walk past me. When I'm not looking, I can feel their piercing stares through the back of my head. It's embarrassing, and despite the fact that this occurs quite often, my cheeks still get warm and I feel ashamed every time.
You see, nine out of ten people think one thing when they see me. "She's probably diseased, deranged, or a criminal." The reality is that I'm none of the above. What I really am is homeless. I find that stereotypes often cloud other people's vision and judgment. People look down at me as if I'm a burden to society just because I can't get by as easily as they do.
Of course, most of them are quite wealthy. Their expensive hairclips and million-dollar shoes know not of hard work and the struggle to provide for themselves as I do. How do they have so much money you ask? The government. You can always sort out the heartless from the rest of the crowd. The ones who will put money before their kin. They'll be those carrying around Guci and Prade.
Due to a widespread viral inspection making people infertile, the government will pay you an arm and a leg for your healthy bundle of joy. (They figure that babies have a higher survival rate with them than their parents.) After that, children are taken to Care Centers under the pretense of officials "Caring for the next generation until they come of age so humans don't die off."
Who knows what really goes on inside the CC walls. I've walked by many of their different facilities. During the days no peep can be heard coming from inside the buildings. Night is a whole different story. I spend many sleepless nights on the streets listening to cries and wails. Of course, this is normal for a baby, but I've heard a normal cry from my best friend's baby, Kate. The cries from the CCs are from babies in agony, longing for their mothers to soothe them.
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