JUNK

n. undesirable articles considered to be useless and of little value

There were drops of ruby red staining the marble streets; dirty foot prints in the snow.

A beggarly young man was roaming the cold market bazaar. His garbs were tattered and worn, the colors faded and muddied with filth. He had a head of untamed, greasy black hair and a jagged scar beneath one of his wide brown eyes. The only thing clean about him was the straw hat upon his head.

He didn't belong. None of this belonged.

Not in this city: the paradise known as the One Piece.

After the last Great War, the government grew even more prudent. Fear of another war escalated by the day. The rebels had almost won, and though, in the end, the government held its place firmly and claimed victory… the possibility shook them to the core. The what-ifs gathered like a heavy storm cloud above their heads and they took drastic action. New laws were formed, and the preexisting became almost draconian. Alcohol, tobacco and recreational drugs were forbidden. Medications (prescribed or over the counter) were monitored with the utmost care. Police forces and security tightened. Biannual house searches were required to assure that no forbidden goods were being harbored away. The government had become an overbearing force looming over the continent.

However, though the laws were brutal and oppressive, life did seem to improve. The cities had become clean and peaceful. Flower gardens, potted plants and parks embellished each neighborhood. The sidewalks and streets were paved with marble and pristine waterways slithered through the city. It was picturesque: the city of dreams. The citizens respected the law and in turn, they were promised a pleasant life. But there were always those who weren't pleased with 'pleasant.' Even after the oppression, the braver folk clung to the beliefs of the rebels before them. They lusted for a liberated country; a wonderland where the common citizen wasn't required to adhere to strict social standards to be accepted.

Those folk were dealt with quickly and accordingly. They had even grown a name for themselves, a name most feared by the passive citizens of One Piece: 'junk.'

"Junk" consisted of anyone from the simplest lawbreaker to the passionate rebel. None were spared. Age restrictions, gender, nor race… none were spared from the title. Even something as trivial as lineage could haunt you. No bad blood was to be exposed to Grand Line under any circumstance. Once a citizen was filed under "junk," they disappeared. Whether they were sent off to a penitentiary or executed was unknown, and it was a curiosity best left unanswered. So long as the laws were obeyed and life was carried out in the most pleasant of manners, the citizens didn't have to fear what may become of them.

But there were always some stragglers that somehow made it past the defenses and into the cities to sneak a peek at the world they were ostracized from, whether it be to criticize or recruit, or simply to long for a better life. The reason for this young man's visit, however, was unknown, and the citizens were nothing short of alarmed.

On a frigid day in late December, the bloody, bruised young man stumbled on through the streets, pressing his face against the window displays and ogling at the fresh produce and meats displayed on old-fashioned carts. Parents gathered their children to their sides, murmuring warnings as if the man was a flea-ridden dog, stricken with rabies. Bystanders glared and glanced warily, keeping their distance and trying to flee any which way. An invisible barrier surrounded the man, until he forced an elderly woman into it.

She was a kind-hearted, aged owner of a small produce stand. Pity and reluctance gathered in her eyes, forming an almost milky glaze and her whole body went rigid as the boy showed his first attempt at human reaction since he wriggled his way in.

"Hey, grandma," the young man piped up, his voice hoarse from what could only be obvious sickness. He picked up a red apple, the worst of the bunch, bruised and battered, and dug around in his pocket until he pulled up something vaguely shiny. He outstretched his hand to reveal a few tarnished coins, "This is everything I have. Can I buy this apple?"

It was hardly enough: just a couple of pennies. And the old woman's heart twisted painfully into a knot. She knew all too well the pains of hunger. She had been alive before this draconian government reared its ugly head and she knew of the very bottom class. She had been one of them. The citizens had gathered into a sort of audience, tension grew thick in the air and the burning gazes made the merchant squirm. She looked at the battered apple, then up at the poor man, and there was no way she could possibly say no. She took a deep breath and hurriedly shoved a few apples, some potatoes and a couple of oranges into a basket and handed them over the counter.

"Please. Keep your coin and hurry away from here, young man. This is no place for you," the elderly woman pleaded in a hushed voice.

The young man seemed a bit dumbstruck at first, but soon his lips peeled back into the most brilliant smile she had ever laid eyes upon, and the friendly gesture no longer seemed like such a crime.

Until the guards came and the crowd scattered like roaches from a light.

"Halt! We've been looking for you everywhere, Straw Hat. How you got past our defenses is beyond me, but you won't be terrorizing this city any further. I ask that you'll come with us or we will exert force," the head city guard boomed in a voice like thunder. He cast a critical eye towards the merchant, "And you. For assisting an obviously wanted man, we will have to-"

"Put your arms up," the young man all but hissed to the old woman, and she found herself ignoring the orders of the guards to listen closely. His wide brown eyes had turned harsh. "Thank you for helping me! I'll return the favor and save you. Don't worry! I'll get away!"

And without further words the woman rose up her hands and fearfully backed away from the stand as the man plundered even more produce off of her and turned his head back to the guards defiantly. "Isn't it me who you want? Shishishi, " he rasped, "Come and stop me, stupid~"

"H-help!" the elderly woman shrieked in mock terror and ran a safe distance from the stand, and from the boy, exchanging a warm, thankful smile as their eyes caught one last time. "Guards, please! That lad made away with all my produce. It's been a rough harvest as it is, will you please help an old woman?"

The guards appeared at a loss, confusion temporarily impairing their judgments before they cast aside the old woman and chased after their 'real prey.' By the time their senses came about them, the young man rounded the street corner leaving behind liquid garnet in the snow from the wounds on his side.

"Take up arms!" the captain commanded and a small fleet of men tore off down the street with their fingers poised on the trigger. "Don't let that little insect get away!"

The young man's heart pounded with adrenaline as he held the small basket of produce to his chest. He was running on empty. His stomach was hollow and turning itself into knots. His wounds ached and he could feel frostbite setting into his feet. He didn't even know where he was running. He was simply following his instincts. It was either run and survive, or submit himself to an unpredictable fate. He may have been naïve, but he knew damn well that he wasn't welcome in this world.

His eyes darted all around, searching for any possible way to shake off the guards and make it back to the outskirts. If he could just make it to the border, he could rest easy and fill his belly. But everywhere he looked were obstacles. The people lumped together, blocking alleyways and streets as they huddled close to their children and watched like deer in the headlights. He didn't want to hurt innocents, but the sands were running out. He shoved himself through a crowd of people and pushed past into an alleyway as the guards kept on his tail. As the bystanders caught sight of the guns, they shrieked and scurried away towards their home in panics, paving a path towards the young man. And as their numbers thinned, the guards finally got a clear shot.

The young man looked back.

It was an ear-splitting cacophony of sounds. Women screaming, children crying, men shouting, dogs barking. Bang.

Produce fell to the ground. Apples and potatoes and oranges rolling off down the marble streets.

And that ruby red painted the snow.