She watched them as they moved down her street.
They never saw her, took great care in looking away before she noticed their shamelessly wide eyes were glued to her body... or, more importantly what she embodied: this world they lived in wasn't perfect.
Her presence there seemed to pollute their pretty city and just like the odd beer can or stray McDonalds bag, they ignored her. She wasn't stupid though... she knew she was just as much an ornament as the ribbons that decorated the streetlights at this time of year, that she in fact blended in with the rest of the pavement and she herself was just an odd discoloration to be considered very briefly before they all walked on... she didn't care.

Christmas.
Stupid time of year, Christmas... all these tiny little pests would assault her unsuspecting eardrums with their so called "angelic" voices, praising the birth of someone she had never believed in. She knew how many were born per minute, also knew how many would die per minute... surviving deserved praise. Being born was just the beginning. She didn't actually know why those things were so clear to her now... when she was younger, she had sung those horrible Christmas carols herself, she'd filled her stocking and told her mommy and daddy to leave extra cookies for Santa and his reindeers and indeed, she had thought it pure magic when her stocking was filled and the cookies appeared eaten.
Maybe that was it: the fireplace the hung her stocking over was gone, mommy was gone, daddy was gone and the cookies had lost their initial value by making every source of food purely necessary, eliminating the pleasure that used to come with it... and just how did she come by her food?

Well... she stole it.
Not like they would miss it. They had more at home.

At home...

She was homeless.
Yeah, they didn't have to remind her by flashing their stupid cell phones at her... some idiots actually couldn't even put their laptops down and thought it perfectly logical to cross a busy city street with it dangeling unsafe and totally exposed on one hand.
Two out of three got mugged.
Not her. Not her fault or problem. Of course she smiled when that happened. Hell yeah, she did... something about watching people lose what they had comforted her: perhaps, that happened to other people too.

She snapped out of her musings when another hyperactive eight year old passed her whilst nagging about the toy he hoped Santa would deliver... fancy thing: Artificial intelligence, robotics, lots of cash. Lots and lots of cash. He'd have to have been real good this year to get that kind of reward...
Envy was one of the seven deadly sins.
So was greed.
Sloth was, too: to be apathic and joyless or to fail to utilize the full extent of one's given gift.
And Gluttony: the over-indulgence or over-consumption of anything to the point of waste... try earth.
Wrath: the anger inside that went beyond one's control... feelings of hatred cherished inside one's soul.
Lust: ah, lust. Middle aged men versus the main inhabitants of the red light district, maybe?
Finally, there was Pride: those who felt the need to be more important than others all the time were sinners too.
That's how she saw the seven deadly sins: Wrath, Sloth and Envy fit her like a glove as Gluttony and Pride did all the passers-by... they didn't showcase it in an extreme way but they didn't help her either... too proud, probably. That's why those sins fit them so well...

But of course her view was twisted... she understood that. She was pretty sure God did, too. No hard feelings?

She once saw charity commercial about starving people needing cash: Yeah, they did, they deserved to be happy and healthy and frollicing around with happy children and a promise of generations to come and litres and litres of water to drink and play in.
Everybody does.

So where was her text number? Where was the one of the eerie looking Junkie across the street that always went to get his fix at three 'o clock at night?

She wasn't starving, she wasn't getting hit all that much unless her addicted neighbor himself with the thought she had actual money on her... she was freezing.

Rattling bones, clattering teeth, limbs turning a delightful shade of blue on their own accord... freezing.

She suspected she might have fallen ill the night before, when it snowed...
It didn't matter though.

Her name was simply D... she didn't care for much, she was fourteen years old and her bright green eyes had fallen shut behind her damp, dirty black hair... Everyone was blind.
Accept maybe that one guy who lived across the street and had been making a futile effort to shoo the Junkie guy off his porch because one day, he looked outside and... saw.

He saw!

And he purposefully crossed the busy city street of Pride and Gluttony and nudged her... made her a touchable object again, instead of this ghost that haunted his neighbourhood:

'You shouldn't be outside, kid.' He smiled.
'You... you can see me?' Lame thing to say, but she couldn't hide her surprise.
He felt her forehead and found fever, shaking his head, thus making salt and pepper colored hair dance on his forehead.
'Yeah, I see you.' His voice was softer now.
She remembered him vaguely from some goods he'd offered earlier: blankets, food, actual shelter when it was cold outside... she'd always declined: he wanted to help her? Text it.

'I'll leave, sir. I'll go if that's what you want.' she tried to stand up, some degree of fear radiating from her eyes...
'No. Don't leave. I'm just trying to help, you know? You're sick.'
'I'm fine.'
'I bet you are.'
The man picked her up and carried her into his house, despite her protests...

His bed was nice...
'What's that?' He asked, fingers hovering over a scar on her right cheek.
'Nothing...'
He let it go.
'I'm Lawrence.' He declared.
Something about him made D abandon her usual "Good for you." and instead respond with: 'I'm D. Why are you doing this, Lawrence?'
'I care. You don't deserve this. You can be somebody.'
'How do you know that?'
'I can see it in your eyes... you hate this, you're not accepting it... you're awake, I guess... and intelligent... like my neice.'
'What happened to her?'
'Drugs...' His shoulders fell.
'I'm clean, you know?' Then D gave herself a once over. 'Sort of.'
'We'll fix that later... now sleep.'

She did.
She had no idea whether she'd be safe... but warmth was everything.

I am indeed new to this spot... I'm fifteen and see my writing as my only talent, therefore I am intent on becoming an author when I grow up. This is my first original story... I'm rather unsure about it but I want, no, need to improve so I posted it here and I'm hoping for some advanced critique to help me get better. So... yeah.