Personal Narrative: Being Homeless

My feet had jagged rocks sticking out of the bottom of them. I had just stolen a blanket from a house I had broken into hours ago, and was now walking to the alley, I had learned to call home. As I laid my blanket down and crawled underneath, I couldn't help but look at the markings I had put on the wall behind me. 1,825 markings 1,825 days today was the fifth year anniversary of being homeless.
Thinking about my life, truthfully there wasn't much I'd do different. As I laid still under my warm blanket I felt something bump into my legs. I slowly looked out of my blanket only to see it was a beat up looking cat. The first thing I noticed was that I one of its ears were torn. The cat also was a brilliant orange, white, and black. …show more content…
You see being homeless and all, there are very limited options when it came to food. Also, I'm selfish. I don't want to die because I feel like I am meant for something, like I have a purpose! Now, I know that that's probably wishful thinking, but all I've got to go on is hope that something good will happen, and my life will be fixed. So back to limited options on food, I'm a cannibal. I am a cannibal. Wow, it sounds so weird saying those words out loud. If you're like me, when you think of cannibal, you think of some shaggy and crazy man jumping around with a knife slicing and dicing his victims, before finally eating them. No. That's not true in every case. There are also serial killers who most of the time have great lives, but kill and eat people for fun. Neither of those is me. I guess technically, I'm a serial killer. But, I don't count myself as one of them. I am a cannibal because I would've starved to death if I wasn't one. You may also be thinking, why didn't you just eat the cat? I didn't eat the cat because he was my one and only friend and companion. You see, if he had left me there crying, I would've killed and eaten him, But, since he showed compassion, I chose to spare