“At least those criminals are honest about their vocation.” he said between drinks of his liquor, some home made corn whiskey. “The government are the bigger thieves. These lowlifes are pikers compared to the government. At least the hood who bashes you in the head and steals your bag of produce doesn't try and force you to think he did it for your own good.”
“They... they destroyed civilization. They thought they could redesign society at their whim and forget about human nature. They punished those who worked hard for a living and rewarded those who did nothing useful. They were trying to bring about some utopia. This is what we ended up with.” He was silent for a while as we watch the sun get lower in the sky.
“In the old days our poorest citizens were fat. We had advanced technologies. No, not just the elite in their gated cities but everyone. Crime was rare, police were not corrupt thieves. Oh sure, there were bad apples but people didn't put up with it, people wanted things to be better. Demanded it. They expected things to be better than they were the year before.”
He threw the bottle into the river and we watched it float away. “Most people were like you. Now people try not to expect anything to get better. Now people accept crime, corruption and poverty and just act like everyone else. I'm not sure anyone else even remembers how to treat another human being with respect.”
We walked home. We both stopped when we heard a scuffle in a nearby yard and muffled cries and grunts. I wanted to help but before I could move dad took my hand and pulled me away. It was the only time I remember holding my fathers hand. “You don't belong to this time” he said without looking in my direction “You'll die when I'm not around, okay?”
Other kids got yelled at by their parents. “You're a worthless thing” “I don't know why I have to feed you even once a day” “You can just keep walking, save us the trouble” “It's not like we want you here.”
I always expected to be yelled at. I hated myself for falling into that trap, but I thought they were upset by my being a recluse, a loner. Only later did I figure out they were happy about that.
That was all a few years ago. I was about to be thirteen now. I was playing on the bank of the river again. I still wore dirty ragged clothes, they never took long to become ragged. Barefoot as always, hair falling into my face too often, playing in the dirt and mud until my hands were black.
I didn't want to be seen looking, it could get you a beating, but I did notice a boat coming into view as it floated down the river. It was loaded with boxes and chests and wooden crates and one man and a little girl. The girl was guiding the boat with the rudder but the drunken man was red in the face screaming at her.
She didn't respond fast enough for his liking or something because she was guiding the flat-bottom boat and suddenly she was hit in the head by a glass whiskey bottle. “Don't ignore me you damned, worthless ungrateful whore!”
The boat hit the bank and the man fell. He began trying to get up, cussing the whole time. “I'm finished with you, I'll show you how cheap life is!” The man, barely standing up, picked up a rusty meat clever and began his unsteady advance on the unaware girl who was sitting on her butt, her face bloody.