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I promised myself I’d steal a pair, take two steps, then put them back.
I never did; no matter how bad things got, I couldn’t bring myself to steal expensive shoes. Stealing food was survival; stealing shoes was greedy.
And I never wanted to be greedy. As a little girl, I had this stupid notion that I was born to be something greater than the streets I grew up on and that one day someone would come and save me.
That dream was crushed within weeks of being with my twin wandering through the freezing cold and wishing for just a sip of water or warm bread, only to go home to foster parents that didn’t even care.
We used to play a game when we were hungry. I’d tell him my last meal, he’d tell me his, and the growling of our stomachs became the instrumental background to our little pretend movie of what life would be like.
To be full.
But right now, hunger was the least of my issues. Even though I was numb, my mind still told my body to appear small, to sit in the dank darkness of the corner and hug myself until it was time to strike.
And strike I would.
I would die in this small metal room with its bloody walls and constant cold. I would die, but I would fight until the bitter end.
“It’s survival,” Pace whispered one night as snow fell to the ground around us, and we warmed our hands over the bin of fire like the rest of the homeless. “It’s normal to turn into someone you don’t recognize when you want to live, Katya, and we both want to live, but let’s never forget who we are.”
A cold tear felt like it was freezing to my cheek. “Orphans? Abandoned? Unwanted? Is that who we are?”
Pace hugged me tighter, his mittens were threadbare, his nose cold as he pressed his cheek to mine. “We’re warriors.”
More tears fell. “I don’t feel strong right now, Pace.”
“Just because you don’t feel it, Katya doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
That’s what Pace would have wanted. I didn’t realize I was crying again until I noticed a small tear hit the concrete in front of me. An omen maybe, from that day, a reminder at best, that I was a warrior, even if I didn’t feel like it. I would fight. I could fight. I could fight for Pace and for me.
Maybe they had bread in Heaven? If there was a Heaven. And if not, maybe I would just finally be able to sleep and feel warm.
That would be nice.
I choked on a sob as footsteps sounded again. My stomach rolled.
So this was it.
My last few minutes on this earth would be dark. I would close my eyes, I would bite, scratch, kick—I would fight, and I would see absolute horror before my eyes were shut forever—but I would not go down without a scream.
A scream for Pace.
One for me.
And hundreds more for the people before us.
Slowly, I stood to my full height and clenched my fists. My lips were swollen from being punched, and my ankle was so swollen it was hard to walk. Everything hurt… my limbs felt too heavy to be attached to my body.
“Focus, you can do this,” I said under my breath as I closed my eyes and played the game I used to play when I was a little girl, and the screaming from the parents I couldn’t even remember got to be too much.
“Let’s play fairy tale!” Pace grabbed my hand and twirled me around twice, then giggled as we grabbed our stuffed animals and lined them up on my bed.
I danced in front of them, adjusting the crown on my head as I imagined a world where people looked at me with reverence with respect.
At such a young age, all I could process was that I wanted to be seen.
My stuffed animals, they saw me.
They were our only friends except for an older brother who wasn’t able to visit as much anymore.
