How long has it been?

Funny that, isn’t it? Lose track of just one day and it throws everything out of whack. Monday? Wednesday? What about the month...? You catch my drift.

I dunno, I’m fairly certain it was Tuesday when I got jumped by those kids in the park and then most of Wednesday was trying to find somewhere to sleep. Oh yeah, that’s when I saw that green graffiti on the wall, wasn’t it? Pretty cool to be fair. Then it must have been Thursday when I was collecting all the dues I’m owed…

Everything after that’s a blur though. Suppose that’s what you get trying to drink yourself to death. I’m guessing the alcohol must’ve lasted about two days give or take, depends on how desperate I was. Guess that makes it a Saturday or Sunday now. Best check though. Can’t lose track of the days…

Bracing myself, I slowly crack open my eye after some resistance from the dried sweat and sleep encrusting it. Yeah, eye. Singular. Long story about that though, maybe another time.

When I’m not blinded by lack of sunlight, I slowly open it fully and push myself up to sit against the wall behind me with a groan. Damn, that’s what I call a hangover; I can literally feel the blood being pushed through my head. Would be cool if it wasn’t accompanied by piercing pain every time.

Casting my vision around my temporary abode, I try to figure out what shit-hole I fell into this time. Seems like some kind of storm drain or sewage outlet, judging from the concrete wall I’m currently leaning on and the ledge overlooking the slow moving stream of murky water.

Slowly turning my head to avoid further flares of pain, I watch as my breath fogs and curls around in the frigid air, not that I feel the cold. Nah, this is just nippy, not worthy of being called true cold. I mean, all my extremities are still attached.

Further inspection reveals a small mountain of empty bottles next to me. All seem to be empty, but you never know, diamond in the rough and all that…

Wincing, I roll over and start scratching through the rubbish around me, filling the drain with the clinking of bottles and my grunts of discomfort when the little bastard kicking the inside of my head feels like stretching.

Huh, looks like I was pretty thorough this time, can’t even find a drop of alcohol. Shame really, looks like I’m going to have to go scavenging. I should probably try and find my bearings as well. But first… ‘medicine’.

Struggling to my feet and leaning against the wall until the spinning stops, I start recounting the days in my head. Call me crazy but it’s a thing I do, sort of a nervous tick. Only rather than just having a fit if I can’t do it, it’s more like if I screw it up and miscount… well, let’s just say it’s not very pretty for anyone involved.

You see, I’m one of the ‘unlocked’. That’s what they call us now I think. Something to do with being politically correct as terms such as ‘freak’ or ‘monster’ are generally frowned upon. I say ‘generally’ because in some cases we literally are monsters. But that’s more to do with the individual I suppose.

Anyway, I’m one these ‘unlocked’. Found that out a long time ago during ‘The Flare’. Even I know what happened then; perfectly normally one moment, then burning pain all over the body the next. Over the following months crazy shit went down. Like seriously crazy. Kids just started doing things, I’m talking moving objects with their minds, blowing up buildings, releasing deadly viruses from their own bodies. The usual ‘superpower’ stuff.

Those were the days, man… Everything’s settled down though, special schools have been set up for the kids who were effected, all in the US for some reason. Helps me though as it makes it easier to hide. New laws have been passed regarding us and our wellbeing, all quite good to be honest.

Just, I wasn’t so lucky. Not that I want to think about it. Why do you think I drink? For pleasure?

That’s beside the point though, a side effect of my power is a very simple loss of control. Yeah, I just lose it after a certain length of time: give into the power and just go with it. Not pleasant the morning after, I tell you.

Slowly, I push myself away from the wall and stagger out of my little drain to be met with the lovely sight of the Thames in the late evening. The thick scum along the edges and the pleasant and artistically placed debris floating past. Not to mention the smell. Truly wonderful, though that could be me.

Another glance confirms my earlier suspicions; it was indeed a sewage outlet. Lovely.

Scrambling up the banking behind me, I vault the railings before thrusting my hands into my pockets and slowly heading away from the river. It seems to be about one, judging from the crowds of people passing me, many of whom seem drunk and of varying ages.

Priorities though. First things first. Alcohol. Luckily for me, the local store owners and barkeeps and I have an understanding: they leave out some free alcohol for me round the back of their establishments and I don’t try to beat their brains in. Very simple.

Why not just pay you ask? Well, my dear Wellson, no… Welcome. No that’s not right either. Heh, doesn’t matter. Basically, I have no money or house. What, you thought that I slept rough for fun? Jeez…

Passing a storefront, I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection. Long, messy, dirty blond hair and pale face with dirt, at least I hope it’s dirt, smudged across it. The main feature of my face though is the eye patch I have; black leather going diagonally across with a square patch over the eye. I quickly reach up and check that the rivets are still firmly set. Yeah, rivets. Painful but necessary, just to make sure I stay in control…

The rest of my clothing is pretty typical of the homeless. Long, tatty overcoat and baggy hoodie underneath, with baggy tracksuit bottoms to compliment it and scuffed boots to complete my attire. I look fucking awful, gaunt with deep bags under my almost black eye. Not very family friendly.

Shaking my head, I carry on for another couple of hundred metres before turning left down a narrow ally which conveniently runs behind the first store I plan on visiting. It’s your typical alley: bins scattered around with rubbish lying everywhere, dim lights and best of all, no prying eyes.

Licking my lips, I proceed to scratch around the bag door set into the wall. I promise you, if this guy hasn’t left something out for me…

Feeling my temper rising I nearly give up and move on before catching sight of a red label. False alarm people, no skull cracking today. The goods are here.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

With a happy sigh I straighten with the bottle before returning to the main street and depositing it into my deep pockets. One down, some more to go. This pattern repeats as I slowly make my way across London while taking sips from my bottle, visiting pubs and stores along the way and as my coat gradually grows heavier.

Thing is, when I was first here, I was roughed up a lot, like a lot. Almost every few stops a group of kids or drunks would drag me into an ally for a ‘good talking to’. Turns out people aren’t too nice to the homeless and feel that it’s their duty to ‘clean society’ of us ‘filth’. Unfortunately, the police are more than willing to turn a blind eye. The bastards.

Especially me for some reason, probably because I’m so young, only seventeen. I know, I know… wow, so young, why no home?

Well, fuck off. I don’t want to talk about it. Not nice memories.

It doesn’t happen so much now though. At least, not for me. See, I’ve kind of made a name for myself as ‘that creepy homeless guy that’ll kill you’. Not entirely my fault though, more that of my power. You could call it another unfortunate side effect I suppose. Basically, everything I touch dies. Kind of broken much? Well, it would be if I could control the bloody thing as literally everything that I touch, as long as it is alive to start with, just keels over. At least there’s no evidence, the police still ain’t got shit on me!

Kind of a pain though as now I’ve got to wrap my hands in bandages so I don’t accidently kill anyone, but hey, it’s not as though I really enjoy contact with other people. Anyway, the main benefit is that no one messes with me now. Well mostly. Some are too far gone in drink, or just new to the area and don’t know.

I don’t know which applies to this group of dickheads blocking my way now. Probably a bit of both. They seem young, maybe sixteenish, acting all cool as they bunk school, smoking and drinking. What a waste of space, though I can’t really talk. Five of them ahead of me, blocking the route. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not belligerent or anything. It’s just, if you have something of mine or make an effort to piss me off, I will start breaking your bones.

Luckily for the kids ahead of me I decide they’re not worth it and, while taking another swig from my second bottle, I turn to leave them in peace. They have a different idea however, as another group of four has moved to cut me off.

Now, I could make a run for it as it is clear they’re not friendly and try to cut across the woodland of the park either side of me, but to be honest, I can’t really be bothered and they look more athletic than me. Well-fed at least.

With a sigh, I take another sip as they snigger to one another and move in, forming a ring around me.

One of the tall ones steps forward with a sneer. Guess he’s in charge then. What a prick. Looking up at him I see he has short black hair and grey eyes. Normal-ish face and larger than normal build. Bigger than my skinny frame. Not that I’ll remember it.

“Well?” He asks as he gazes contemptuously at me.

Great, a talker. Not in the mood mate. See, amongst my many issues, one of them is a fear of talking to others. I never seem to say the right thing. I was kind of hoping we could get through the whole scenario without exchanging pleasantries too. Ah well.

Rather than answer I instead take another long sip from my now nearly empty bottle and watch as his face mottles with rage before he glances at his ‘compatriots’ and regains his cocky expression. Jeez, you can literally see the thought process of this guy…

“Give us the booze and we’ll let you go.”

What a load of crap. “Fuck off back your mum, shit-stain, I got places to be.” I drawled. See? Not exactly the best thing I could have said.

Anger again flashes across his face as the grins on his friends’ faces widen in anticipation. Seems like he wants all the glory of beating down some homeless guy then.

With a flourish, the youth pulls a knife from his pocket and waves it under my nose. Well, I say knife, it’s more of a toothpick really. Barely six inches long.

“Look, last chance. Gives us the booze or I’ll cut you good.”

Like fuck I’m giving him my hard earned alcohol. I doubt he could stomach it anyway. Too strong.

“I’m good,” was my only response as I stared him down.

With a grimace the kid replied, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” though he hesitated with the knife. Cocking my head, I giving him a searching look. Yeah, doesn’t look he has the guts to actually stab someone.

Never underestimate peer pressure though. Just because someone is as nice a summer day one moment doesn’t mean their friends can’t pressure them into doing something not quite so nice.

Case in point, asshole A here seems to have scraped together enough courage after his mates started jeering at me and him about wanting to see a good fight. Watching the young punk, I see the emotions flicker across his face as he draws back before plunging the knife into my chest with a dull ripping noise.

With a shuddering breath he staggers back, anger and regret mixed on his face as he stares at the knife sticking out of my chest. Hi friends have at least shut up; I see one of them almost drop his phone he was using to record their great crusade for society. Lightweights; never seen someone stabbed before.

With a snort I raise my bottle and drain it in one go before throwing it to the side and watching their faces, I slowly pull the knife out of my chest before pocketing it. I love doing this, the looks on their faces is so damn funny as their glee at winning slowly turns to horror.

“Y-you’re one of them!” asshole B exclaimed as their ring formation began to loosen and they looked at each other in fear Man, people really don’t like what they can’t understand.

I don’t bother answering and instead fish out another bottle from my coat and start drinking. At my sudden action the group paralysis wears off and they take off at a sprint.

Signing I start walking again. Yeah, this is my life. Not much, but hey, it’s the best I’ve had in a while. Now the question is, is it worth hunting down that kid with the phone to delete the video?

Hmmmm…. Could be problematic if some people saw it… Nah, can’t really be arsed. I’d probably get in trouble for it if I went after him anyway.

Yeah, not worth it.

Taking another long swallow from the bottle I keep walking. I got things to do you know? Though I really do hope no one sees that video.