Under the Bridge Solo Finished

It was cold at night in London, even at the end of August. A small red-headed girl huddled under a small bridge in the Kensington Gardens. The bridge was for show, of course, but it was  shelter and the girl would take it. She could do for some food right now, as well. The girl hadn't eaten in days now, and her stomach was growling so much, she could hardly bare it. It had been five months since her mum had kicked her out. Five months of living on the streets, with nothing but a jacket and the occasional stolen money to get her by. She couldn't remember her name. All the red-headed girl could remember was pain, hunger, and loneliness. The girl held up her hands, looking at the caked dirt and mud on them. She wondered when she would finally die of the hunger that had been paging her for days now. In her books, most people only lasted a couple of days before dying of starvation. The normal people she took food from hadn't shown up at the park because of the August rains, and the girl hadn't wanted to get her sister's  jacket wet so she stayed under the bridge, waiting for the rains to stop. She was near delirious now, but still refused to go out into the now-drizzling rain. She wouldn't ruin the only thing left of her sister. The girl finally nodded off to sleep, curling up in a ball as she watched the rain fall.

When the girl finally awakened, there was an old woman standing over her with a concerned look in her eyes. How had she gotten here and who was she? The girl was too weak to run, so she simply stared up at the woman. "Do you have food?" She asked, voice cracking from lack of use. The woman simply shook her head no, and rummaged in her purse for something. The girl blinked once, wondering if it was a gun. Was the woman going to hurt her?

"What's your name?" The old lady asked kindly, handing 20 pounds to the shivering red-head.
The girl had to think before she responded. It had been months since somebody had called her by her real name. Normally the children in the park she played with, or the other homeless people she had met called her wildfire or blaze for her red hair. The girl didn't know the last time somebody had cared enough to say her real name. Finally she remembered the name, and with her memory of her name came a flood of other memories.
Memories of another girl playing with the red head at this very park. Memories of a short, dark haired woman looking around nervously at the other children playing, before pressing a kiss onto the red-head's forehead. Memories of that same woman screaming her name, and to get out five months ago. Memories of her father screaming her name, and pain so vivid the girl couldn't breath. But most of all, she had memories of belonging, of not being hungry, of Indian food every other Wednesday, of late night talks with her sister. Her sister Bella. The sister who had given her the jacket before everything happened, and the girl found herself out on the streets.

"Eris. My name is Eris." The girl finally said, forcing herself to smile. Her name was Eris Elcan and she would not be afraid. She would survive until the school her mom said would take her found her. Eris had to believe that somebody from the school would get her.

Eris beamed at the old lady, accepting the 20 pounds. The woman wrinkled her nose, as Eris took the money with her greasy, dirt stained hands and held it up, as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Then she stood up, thanking the woman again, as she headed off to get some food. To survive afterall, Eris needed some food.