My story has never been my own, it always belonged to somebody else, another person playing front and center.
Me- Always the passer-by.
Not many people know my story.
Most have never asked.
I mean why should they? I am just the beggar on the street.
I'm the skinny dirty girl, way too skinny.
'She must be a drug addict', most people say, 'a whore'.
How many of them actually considered the truth, I was hungry.
How many stopped and rolled down their automated windows and actually gave me that fifty cents, or dollar? Not many.
Because how could I possibly be hungry. People see me as the drug addict whore they want to see me as.
None of them stop and consider that I was a kid at one time, born from a mother, innocent and clean just like them.
Naked just like them. No, because the world judges. We are categorized to fit people's naive minds.
And I, the skinny hungry girl am categorized as the whore, the drug addict and all the other sick shit that people think up and point at me.
Telling their kids about how these street junkies get by, scaring them with lies to justify the evilness of their own mind. That is what people see when they look at me, Beggar.
Well, at least they did.
Months ago, I met a group of bikers. They called themselves Satan Snipers.
I saved their princess Falon by killing two guys who wanted to rape her.
The Enforcer of the club, Zero, took me with them that night.
My life changed FROM that very first night. I had a hot shower, my own bedroom, and three full meals a day.
Life was great.
and I
They taught me to
didn't know I was already a deadly weapon. A wanted killer with a few targets on my back and a bounty on my head that was so large,
for me, even death was too easy
was from the very day- A woman without a soul, never batted an eyelash
had questioning shit I didn't want to be questioning. And Zero, the scarred scary Enforcer of the Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club, was the man who owned the
final piece of humanity I had in me,
made my demons livable with words I knew he could
air into my lungs when I forgot to breathe. He held me when
life, something I forgot I still had, and for that short while
for good reason, that I can't fault
I knew his brother was his brother. He thinks I used him to kill
believes that I will kill his
while most of what he thinks is wrong, the most important part of that
Sniper's Motorcycle Club probably
have to do it for her.
I think about them all- The
their home for me, took me
was as happy
Things seemed better.
Way better.
forgot my monster who haunted me wasn't just a monster but a
my monster, he was also my husband and
whatever it took to get me back and
two of The
knew what he would do to them
let
myself with the women and gave myself to the familiar monster
The scream bellows through the long stretch of
familiar chills down my
not many years ago when my name on his lips made me blush,