The Junkyard-- Lindsay

                   Eddie ran down the sidewalk, blurs of people whizzing by as a sprinted behind him, trying my best to keep up. He had told me before this all started that it was no big deal. Yet, seeing as where I am now, I'm beginning to think he was lying to me.
                   The stolen hunk of warm bread wrapped in a pillowcase was held to his chest, his grimy hands holding it there, the little bundle looking almost like a small, hidden child in his arms. My own pockets were bulging with fruit, apples and oranges that I had grabbed so swiftly, Eddie had called me a pro. I had blushed when he said that.
                   Eddie and I lived in The Junkyard. It wasn't an actual junkyard, but a neighborhood of people living wasted lives and home of the walking trash. Nobody helped nobody. Every man was for himself.
                    My mother, my two little sisters and I lived in a house of sloppily nailed siding, no roof, and a hanging sheet that served as our front door. But we were fine. Eddie lived with us; his family all died except him from starvation. And no one really cared. We took him in as our own, my mother insisted we should. Now he was the man of the house, since my dad ran off to who-knows-where.
                   And it was Eddie who lead me to the marketplace in the center of the city, a couple of miles walk from The Junkyard. It was he who told me to steal. He told me that I shouldn't feel bad after I had food in my mouth later that night. That we needed it more. Guilt didn't really exist, it's just a trick of the mind. Guilt is unrealistic.
                   Then why did I feel so guilty?
                   Eddie didn't slow his run until we were safely inside the four walled home where my family waited for our return. Words were impossible to squeeze out of my gasping mouth, I was panting so hard. I finally caught my breath and set the fruit on the table. A frail cough came from the faded red sofa nearby. My mother lay there, her face drained of any color, sick and tangled in some dirty blanket. She had been running a fever for the past week, and her condition had not gotten better in that period of time. It was never going to get better.