The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The air around him got thin as his breath began to quicken. He felt his blood surge through his body and his palms got sweaty. The moment he has been pining for, for years is just a few feet away, closing in.
He licked his lips and closed his eyes anxiously. Slowing down his own pace of steps as he hears each step of the presence behind him gets closer and louder. His heart races as he hears the steps close in. He stops completely. Standing still in the dark alley, anticipation growing viciously inside him as each second feels likes hours. The presence, right behind him now, so close he can feel its breath. He wants to turn around with excitement but doesn't want to ruin this perfect moment.
Finally he feels a hand on his shoulder urging him to turn around. He does so and realizes, the defining moment he was waiting for has yet to come as this presence is nothing more than a vagrant.
He looks down towards the extended hand and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out some loose change and handing it to the painfully harmless man. He sighs as he watches his moment walk ahead of him and then disappear into the darkness of the dimly lit alley. Discouraged by his uneventful walk he heads home.
Edgar Dalton has taken this route many many nights before, so he doesn't have to look up to see where he is going. He can tell from the stones and marks on the pavement and concrete.
The alley is dark and ominous with a light fog added to the already obscured view of the path. On one side of the pavement there are average height buildings, unrecognizable by those who don't know the area at this time of night. The next side was a fence. Some buildings had small lights hanging from them to light the way, but failed miserably.
Small makeshift beds and bags of hoarded items decorated the path. Followed by an unrelenting stench of urine permeating the air. He has grown an immunity to the smells. He doesn't have a mind to observe in the disheveled state he is in when he takes these walks. He barely notices much of the ambiance the dark road has to offer. He stops at a bus stop a waits for a bus.
Home now, he goes into his grandmother Agnes's room to check and see if she is still breathing. Sometimes he wishes she would stop breathing. He knows it's wrong but he feels so helpless against whatever ails her. For days she will just sit in a catatonic like state staring into oblivion. sometimes you can see a tear or two drop from her eyes, and she always has a terrified look on her face, as if all the blood has been drained from it. She can't eat by normal methods. So he blends her food and feeds like an infant When she's her normal self, she looks empty as if she has lost something and knows it will never return.
She won't talk, she hasn't talked since his grandfather Robert passed away of a heart attack. She seemed so sad and that's when she started going into her blacked out states.
After checking on his catatonic grandmother, he heads to the kitchen. His disappointing encounter left him feeling peckish. He opens the fridge and pulls out a can of grape soda and a jar of pickles. Goes to the living room and turns on the tv.
Flipping through the channels he stops on a news station, hanging on to every word the news anchor is saying. "Just moments ago a terrifying and horrible incident here in central Los Angeles has left three homeless men dead. As of now we don't have all the details of the way they were killed, but it happened in an alley behind food 4 less near venice and western at around 3:30am." Edgar looks at the clock it's 4:15am "Shit!" Edgar jumps up dropping his jar of pickles on the floor not breaking the jar but spilling out all the pickle juice. "Goddammit" he yells his high pitched voice sounding more whiny than angry.
He starts pacing forgetting the pickle juice stained rug and carpet momentarily. He was there in that alley minutes before this tragedy struck. It takes him 30 minutes to get home from that alley on the bus, it came as soon as he stepped in front the stop.
His mind racing thinking about how he just missed his moment. Thinking if he had only stayed a few minutes longer. How all his troubles and worries would just disappear in that moment. He starts crying remembering all the times he was skipped over for anything. All the chances he never got. Everytime he never got picked.
YOU ARE READING
NEVER GOT PICKED!
Short StoryEdgar Dalton a 29 year old, single antique store owner which he inherited from his grandfather. His grandmother unable to run the store entrusted it to him. His life is dauntingly boring but he carries within him a deep dark secret that he himself...
