Prose

The young girl stood in front of the loaves and loaves of bread in the supermarket. Looking at them, she salivated a little, for the food that she was looking for was right in front of her. Yet, despite the bread, with its faint aroma of the flour and its fillings rushing into her nose and exciting her, she coldly knew how impossible it was for her to get a taste of any of it.

She had sworn to give up searching her pockets for anything for she knew that every single time she did that, the only thing she would find in those sorry excuses of pockets, was disappointment, lingering in her mouth like food that have been left under the sun for days. But, food gone bad was better than not having any food at all, and she dug into those pockets again, those pockets that never harboured anything from the moment she placed it on her tiny body frame, wasted away from months and months of starvation.

Disappointment soon evolved to desperation, with her stomach pleading for, and later demanding real, solid food; not just inhaling its aroma and pretending to eat the scents; not just swallowing her saliva, now with a sour tinge to it; not just the dirty and muddy water from outside the supermarket, pretending that the inhumane drink was actually cold chocolate milk, even though she did not know how chocolate tasted like.

The young girl was not in this pathetic situation by choice. Thrown out of her last orphanage three months ago, she lived off the streets since then, moving from ghetto to ghetto. She used to live like this when she was younger, when her father was still around, and not buried six feet under. Due to an unfortunate car accident, her only known kin left him with nothing more than a simple necklace, which now hung loosely around her neck, sagging below the dirty shirt of hers.

Her eyes darted around, suspiciously eyeing the surroundings. Once she made sure the coast was clear, she snuggled a small piece of bread -- with its label “Cream Puff” -- into her loose and baggy shirt. Then slowly, cautiously, she made her way to the exit.

Her lower lip not only trembled in fear, but in excitement too, in anticipation of the first solid food that she could finally taste in days. Strengthened by the thought, she made a dash of the exit.

Someone grabbed her shoulder and pulled her behind one of the large shelves of the supermarket, just as two security officers reached the front gate, staring at her maliciously, waiting for her to cross the line, to be caught red-handed. 

“Foolish girl. Come with me,” the man behind her shook her and broke the trance the two security guards held with her.

She almost cried, for she was discovered shoplifting. Dread gripped at her heart, a black monster that threatened to suffocate her, to try to end her suffering now, lest it be any worse than that.

“Take out that piece of bread,” the voice commanded her as he dragged her to one of the cashier counters. She was still paralysed in fear, unable to react, to fight back, or even think clearly, wholly accepting the harsh truth almost immediately. 

“Take out the bread now,” the man once again repeated his command, now with a subtle tone change, and even though it has been softer than the last time he said it, his command left no room for any negotiation. She pulled it out gingerly, and he took it away from her, and placed it in his trolley, along with all the other groceries.

At that moment, it was when she realised the ‘man’ was simply a teenager, not anyone of authority in the supermarket, but just another shopper. As the cashier was handling his groceries, including the extra “Cream Puff” that he just placed inside the trolley, they took their time to study each other, a tall, maturing teenager with a pre-adolescent young girl. The teenager paid for all his purchases, and the young tagged along as he left, hiding behind him as they passed the security guards.

As they walked far enough away from the supermarket for the security guards to be out of earshot, he took out that small piece of bread, knelt down and gave it to her, pressing it in her hands. Her eyes welled up almost immediately, those shining, brown eyes of hers filled with emotion. He smiled and patted her head, ruffling a bit of the dirty, black hair that she had.

“Did you have a choice in stealing the piece of bread?” he asked her, even though he already knew the answer already. She shook her head, and sniffled a bit, her eyes looking at him expectantly.

He gave a melodramatic sigh. “Guess that I, too, have no choice then. Follow me home.” He stood up from his kneeling position, and held out his free hand, waiting for her to grab it.