Sometimes it's easy to walk by because we know we can't change someone's whole life in a single afternoon. But what we fail to realize is that simple kindness can go a long way toward encouraging someone who is stuck in a desolate place. - Mike Yankoski

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Theo

My body's disobeying nature against my mind reaches full force as it shoots upright, exempt from any permission from myself, and complete with the brisk wind striking me against my cold face. This part of the day serves to obey the procedure that always follows - unwanted eyes digging into me, generously concluding amongst themselves what personality trait has furiously ridden my soul today. Violent? Crazy? Weird? Or all of the above?

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I shout, like clockwork, and they scatter away like ants on a chalkboard, but I know they're not scared. It is the same recycled process every dooming day that falls upon us, and while my body shakes with unkempt furore, a part of me cannot help but think that this excites them. This is what they want to see. My eyes jam together at the most unexpected moment; my realities haunt my sleep and cause a deflated reaction in my body. They stare. They whisper. They laugh. All it takes is a look - the kind of look that could send people to their graves - or a question spouted from a violent tongue, and my solitude pursues.

I'd rather people saw a deep immovable shade of red when they look at or think about me, as opposed to the rise of a pitiful feeling within their fingers.

I take a deep breath, then lie back down again. I scowl at my black, tattered cashmere coat that, just like every other night, proves to be the worst blanket. Fury and involuntary anger from my dream overtakes my hand as the coat is suddenly released from it.

"Um, excuse me, you just threw your-"

An unusual voice begins and ceases within just a few seconds, the tone carefully bringing a crease to my eyebrows. I find myself sitting up again to detect whether the sight of me caused her to scuttle away like the others. Instead, I become exposed to the image of a relatively tall figure looking down on me. She is dressed in all white, her jet black hair contrasting with her transparent presence, but her light brown eyes pierce so cunningly into mine that I feel something deeper than anything humanly explainable. As with anybody else's attention I manage to inescapably corrupt, I cannot help but wonder whether the representation of an angel that she clearly is masking is one that comes with an ulterior motive.

Despite my captivation by her trance, a sense of annoyance surrounds me on the fact that she is staring harder than anybody ever has. But, the more my eyes focus on everything that I can see on her, the more blatantly evident it becomes just the type of girl that is standing before me.

Rich, spoilt, pretty girl.

She seems like the type to stay indoors and demand people to run the kind of errands she might be running today, for her.

"Sorry. About the coat," I say, in the hopes it will shatter her out of her intense stupor.

"It's okay. Here, take it back." She holds the object in front of my face, almost as if she knows the struggle I have faced with it, and is actively attempting to gain satisfaction from taunting me with it. I make no effort to take it.

"I don't want it."

"Still take it. You need it."

"No."

"I really think you should-"

"Listen, you spoilt rich girl," I hear myself snarl expectedly. It doesn't take a lot for me to snap. "I know you're not used to the word no, or people saying it to you for that matter, but it usually means the opposite of yes. If I am telling you I don't want the coat, I mean I do not want it. And if you could leave me alone too, that would be great. I'm not a pity party. And you're blocking the sun."

The display of the untimely destruction to her confidence laced blatantly on her face confirms my idea that she usually gets everything she wants.

Nobody has ever spoken to her like that before.

"You're a real moron," she concludes, throwing the coat in my face, before walking off hurriedly. I feel a small stabbing sensation on my nose, and frown at knowing that the zipper has just added one more scar to the collection.

"Thanks," I retort, partly in response to her verdict of me; and moderately in response to her quite literally leaving her mark on me. However, she doesn't hear me. She's already gone.

Eliza

I slam the front door a little too hard which I suspect the hinges suffer from, alongside my shivering ear. I stride in an uneven pace and direction into the kitchen, picking up the pack of sliced bread along the way, and mentally reprimanding myself before opening the fridge. A multitude of options sit before my eyes - ham, chicken slices, cheese. I settle on the cheese, with the hope that grilled cheese is something that is collectively adored by every single member of the population.

In the fear that it is not adored by this one particular member, who has already proven the arduous efforts that must be given in order to release niceties from him, I grab the ham and chicken slices, and make separate sandwiches with that too.

I find myself carefully making each sandwich, and then fearing that wouldn't be enough, I retreat to opening a cupboard and seizing the nearest snacks to come into my field of vision, doing the exact same when I open the fridge.

Just as I place everything laid before me in a plastic bag, the sound of footsteps pacing down the stairs cause my already incessant nerves to intensify.

"Hey honey, how was college?" My mom's voice sounds as her face appears in my view.

"Boring as usual. Um... I'm heading out."

"Where are you going?"

"Just to the movies with Olivia," I say convincingly.

"What's in the bag?"

"Snacks for the movie."

"You never take snacks from home to the movies."

"Mom, at the risk of sounding like a hurried bitch, the movie starts at five-thirty, and it is now a quarter to five. I have to go."

"Okay, fine," she holds her hands up, before dipping her hand in her shirt pocket and bringing out twenty dollars.

"Enjoy the movie, honey. And tell Olivia I say hi."

"Thanks, mom." I reply, as I take the money. "And I'll tell her."

I place the money in the pocket of my white leather jacket, and walk towards the front door, the plastic bag held tightly within my fingers.

As I embark on the same route I took not long before, I find exactly who I am looking for, in the exact same position he was earlier in.

His head is stooped low, revealing to me a mane of unkempt, but surprisingly glossy brown hair. No movement is made on his part, allowing me to reach the conclusion that he has fallen into a deep slumber. Anxiety dances through me as I feel undecided on what action to take next to get him to wake up.

I eventually decide to tap him a number of times before he finally stirs.

"Don't fucking touch me," he utters with a shaky voice, wriggling from my touch and springing his head up instantly, as if my fingers are made of fire, and he is getting burnt. His face becomes that of an unimpressed boss once he notices that it is me.

"Oh," he spits out, a noticeable sigh of relief failing to disguise itself. "I thought you were going to... What do you want?"

"Um... I got you some stuff," I state apprehensively, dangling the plastic bag in his face, with the forlorn hope that he will take it etched firmly in me.

"Stuff?"

"Food. Water."

"I didn't ask for that. In fact, if I remember clearly, I'm pretty sure I asked you to leave me alone." He pulls the coat over his leg some more, exposing his shoes that look like they have been dragged through a field of mud to the point where there is no longer any mud left in said field.

"And I did. But I just thought you would want something to eat and drink."

"Well, I don't. I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

"I don't. I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, because you feel sorry for me."

"Why are you such a jerk?" I question, beginning to become increasingly infuriated by his lack of cooperation. "You're not the first person I've done this for, you know? I can't not get food and something to drink for people like... You," I say, whispering the last word, while the realisation of how arrogant I sound trickles over me in a successful attempt to humble me.

"People like me?"

"I just meant people who live on... The street. I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so-"

"Condescending? Ignorant? Proud of your position and lifestyle?"

Guilt furiously embraces me, and I am suddenly ambushed with the unshakeable urge to leave before I say something else without thinking.

"Look... Please just take it. I didn't leave my house with it just to go back with it." I place the plastic bag in front of his legs, and then reach into my jacket pocket.

"And um... Here's twenty dollars. You can use it for whatever you want."

"Whatever I want? So if I was to go and buy about three packs of beer with that you wouldn't feel like you just wasted your money?"

"Well, preferably not alcohol. But... It's your choice."

His hand wavers in the air before it finally clasps onto the money. I watch him as he stares at it, and wonder what is going through his mind.

"You're um... Blocking the sun again," he finally says. Oh. It's not exactly what I was expecting to next come out of his mouth.

"There is no sun right now."

"Not with you standing there."

The anger I felt from his obvious discourtesy from earlier comes rushing back, and I wonder if it has now transformed into the form of the violent wind that threatens to attack me.

"Jerk," I eventually say, relying on the wind to guide me into the right path.

"Have a nice day," I hear him shout after me, with what I dictate to be a bit of humour in his voice. But, my mouth struggles to find the joke in my pure efforts going to waste, and instead, I find myself biting down fiercely on my bottom lip to prevent myself from going back and tearing the rest of his coat away with my teeth.

Theo

Once she is out of complete sight, I hastily pick up the plastic bag and my coat, and move into the alleyway a few feet away.

After I manage to get myself seated as securely as I possibly can, I scan inside the bag for its contents. My eyes wander around a container of what I imagine to be sandwiches, a big bag of chips; a bottle of water; a bunch of chocolate bars; and some fruit. I hate fruit.

I pick up the container, and open it to be greeted with three different sandwiches. A smile fights to appear on my face, but a message from my brain telling me that this is too good to be true allows the permanent frown to indebtedly remain. Without even looking to see what is in the first sandwich, my teeth prowl into it.

The feeling of chewing is something that has been foreign to me for a while. But this, this feels good.

I devour every single piece of food that resides in the heavenly bag, taking large sips of water in between bites.

My head finds slight comfort against the wall, as my tongue dances around inside my mouth at the excitement of finally being reverted back to its function. Thinking about the mysterious girl that left me not long ago, I take the twenty dollars out of my jacket pocket and stare at it.

I forgot how a twenty dollar bill looks.

Eliza

I follow after Olivia into her dimly lit living room, and take a seat next to her on the sofa.

"So, why do you look like you've just been chased by a fox with a hammer?" My best friend asks.

"I feel like I have," I retort. "I met this boy."

"No way. At college?"

"Wait, slow down. Not like that. He's... Homeless."

"You're not talking about the one down the road from your house are you?"

My eyes light up at the mention of him. "What? How do you know about him?"

"I see him when I walk over to your house," she explains nonchalantly, as if this is knowledge I am supposed to have previous awareness of.

"That's so weird, though. How come I've never seen him before?"

"Well because you never used to take the subway to school." She laughs, and I join in routinely, but my mind has escaped reality, and has no recollection of what she just said. "And besides, he used to stay in the alleyway. One time I walked past there and he mumbled something under his breath and then called me a bitch when I asked him to move his feet."

"Well, he called me a spoilt rich girl today," I recall bitterly at his firsthand judgement of me with lack of factual evidence.

"Why were you speaking to him?"

"He threw his coat at me. He didn't know it was going to hit me, but it did."

"And then?"

"I tried to give it back to him, and that's when he got angry and told me I was a spoilt rich girl who wasn't used to being told no."

"I think he's an incredibly irate person. But you shouldn't be speaking to him, Eliza."

"I spoke to him after that as well. I went back to see him."

Her standard eyebrow raised look appears, and just like tradition, it haunts my vision, as it now becomes my overbearing mother sitting in front of me. It's ludicrous how my best friend often weirdly resembles my mother and her consistent reprimand.

"Don't look at me like that. I just went back to give him food and money."

"You gave him food? You usually only give people on the streets money, Lize."

"I know but... I felt sorry for him."

"And you don't feel sorry for the thousands of others that have the same lifestyle?"

"Some of them don't seem as angry as him. I could tell he was hungry, I just wanted to help him."

"I can see where this is going. And I don't like it." Her face is revealing the hidden meaning behind her words - all of this concern is going to transform into something deeper; something more real; something that cannot be escaped from.

"I don't like him, Livvy. I just feel bad for him. He obviously has a problem with his family for him to be out on the streets. You can tell he's of a similar age to us."

"Right. So you're going to continue giving him food? From your house?"

"He needs it."

"Promise me you won't get sucked in by him, Lize. Yeah, he might have problems with his family but if he's the one out on the streets it's probably his fault."

"Relax, Livvy. I met the boy today. I don't even know him to get sucked in by him," I say, mimicking her words to create humour, but I can feel my heart rise up to my throat at the disbelief of my words.

"Good." She looks deep in thought. "Did he even say thank you?"

"No, but I could tell that was down to his pride," I speak confidently, almost as if I know him.

"How can you tell when you don't know him?"

"Just a hunch," I remark, as the thought hits me that he really didn't thank me. At the time I didn't realise. But I understand why he didn't.

He doesn't want to seem grateful for somebody doing him a favour, because he wants the illusion that he is overly satisfied with his circumstances to carved confidently into everybody's mind. It is not unbeknownst to me that the world consists of many people who have an obstinate ego and pride that they cannot have broken down. Because once it is, true feelings become the clear painting on the once blank canvas. And it can never be erased.

He doesn't want his painting to show.

One day, he'll break down that barrier of pride and thank me, I think to myself.

Olivia insists that I stay over at her house for the night. As crazy as it may sound, I have spares of everything at Olivia's house for whenever I decide to spontaneously stay over.

A fresh toothbrush, mouthwash, a set of pajamas, bath soap and clothes for the morning all sit in the house waiting to be used by me.

But while my friend sleeps peacefully and contently on her side of the bed, my mind seems to be occupied by thoughts of him, ridding myself of the idea that I could possibly like a jerk that I've only known for a day. But, my label of him as a jerk is what keeps me so intrigued. I refuse to accept and believe that his personality is everything that he has portrayed to me thus far. It is hidden behind many layers. It must be. He must have gone through a lot in his life. Somebody must have hurt him. Somebody must have disappointed him.

And in an inescapable trice, my tired eyes and rushed thoughts stirred with the absolute empathy I have gathered towards him causes me to come to a sudden idea.