It was noontime when Abby woke up from last night’s plunder. Her entire being revolts against the waves of unfamiliar sensations that went through her. A sudden awareness of guilt and of remorse, of exultation and of woe, then suddenly, of the harmonious rhythm of the head and of the heart. What needs to be done must be done.
Homelessness paired with an insatiable lust for revenge has taken its toll on her. Many sleepless nights have been spent hatching the perfect plot towards retribution but by morning, the plan always wasn’t good enough. It has to be perfect, swift, and final.
Her temporary home by the park is composed of pre-owned effects. A disfigured tent and a kettle; her prized possession. She doesn’t need much. It’s easier to slip from the police with little, and not heavy to the heart and pocket if taken away. She can walk past the enemy without worrying about treasures.
There aren’t many jobless and homeless people in this city and the parks are almost always empty and unguarded after the sun sets, except for two or three illicit lovers who hide in the dark and pretend they’re interested in the bushes and crows. They are the beneficiaries of Abby’s abuse. Survival is the first instinct of man and by nightfall, when the usual park-goers have left, she will be in her usual hiding spot, observing and waiting for the right moment like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey. The miscreants will start to arrive and get busy with their late-night debaucheries and the predator will feast.