Snippets

Short Story-Observations of Him

He placed himself on the side of the pathway, preparing for a long day. The frayed edges of the holes in his pants tickled his legs lightly, but he felt nothing.

He couldn't remember the last time he laughed. Was it two years ago or three? It didn't matter to him anymore. Nothing ever did these days.

He slid his arms out of his backpack straps that were held together with barely there thread. The backpack was placed on the slab of concrete next to him, nestled in his bony side. He could never be too sure that all he had left wouldn't be stolen. Again.

He reached in to his bag and pulled out an old baseball cap. He placed it next to his crossed legs and reached back into the backpack.

The twenty-something year old pulled out a piece of worn cardboard, and held it limply in front of his stomach. It read:

If I was your best friend, would you help me?

He had stolen the phrase from another lifeless soul he had seen on the streets once. The two had been fairly acquainted, until one day he woke up the cold body of the man.

It didn't really bother him that some days he would receive $2.30. It was more a loss of interest and hope than anything.

Sometimes, people would come up to him, camera in hand, and give him $50 for the sake of seeming like a good person on the internet. At least he got to eat.

Today was one of those days. The ones where he wouldn't feel hungry, or thirsty, or anything at all. He had those days often.

On this particularday, a family of three had walked past him. The seemingly three year old girl stared at him with confusion, curiosity and distraught brewing in her eyes.

She tugged on her mother's arm and whispered, "Mummy, why is that man there?"

Her mother simply pulled her daughter away from him and mumbled something along the lines of,"He's dangerous honey, don't go near him."

As the wary trio passed by, the man thought about the mother's repsonse.

Dangerous. Heard that one a few times now.

The man was considered dangerous, yet he did not harm, approach in a threatening way, or look threatening. In fact, the six inch heels that the woman wore were more dangerous than him.

Due to the warm weather, there were a vast variety of people roaming the streets. Anyone from teenagers to adults, business men, to business women, construction workers to lone wanderers, mothers to fathers, joggers to runners and everyone in between.

In one hour, he counted 87 people that passed him. In one hour, he also counted
12 people who stopped to read his sign, and 4 who dropped money in his hat.

So far, he had collected $3.50, all in silver coins. He hadn't received a gold in god knows how long. Even then, it had probably lost all it's shine and was probably unusable in some bizarre way.

He remembered when he still lived at home, with his mum and his two younger brothers. He hadn't spoken to his brothers since they got transferred to their respective foster homes, and he hadn't spoken to his mother since he watched the cancer take every last ounce of her life in a dingy, old hospital bed.

He had no care for his brothers anymore. They were probably living peacefully with their new families.

He had lost track of his own age, let alone his brother's. His best guess was that they were in their late teens, early twenties by now.

As young kids, the trio were called The Bond trio, due to their love and passion for James Bond. Their real names were David, Harry, and ironically, James, but those names were hardly ever put into use.

A flock of birds flying past lured him out of his meaningless trance. Pigeons. Rather than a v formation, they flew in a frenzy; as if they were all running away from their nightmares.

He noticed a bird struggling to keep up with the rest of the flock.

In an unusual way, the birds metaphorically represented the sick world in which we live. Almost everyone followed the rules of society, even though they didn't make any sense half the time, and the few who decided to stand up against all the wrong doings of the world, were often considered outcasts.

He didn't believe in categorizing people, but if he did, he would deem himself an outcast. Only an outcast would live on the streets. Only an outcast wouldn't see their own siblings for three or so years. Only an outcast wouldn't have a family.

All the people walking by him were normal people. Or so they say. They probably had a Christmas party every year, and remembered their brother's birthdays, and didn't spend half of their days thinking about possible ways to kill themselves.

There wasn't much to do when you you did was sit on the streets and wait for someone to give you money.

Some days he would find entertainment in trying to work out people's lives. What did they do for a living? Did they have a happy, normal life? Did anyone love them?

A man came up to him, and pointed to the other side of the bench he was sitting on.

He had the same look as him; ratty, old clothes with one too many holes, an undeniably, unhealthy complexion, hollowing cheekbones, and hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in quite a while.
"Is this spot taken?" His voice dull; lifeless. He almost sounded like a robot puppy that had been kicked one too many times.

He shook his head and brought his belongings closer to him with his free hand, as if protecting his backpack.

The new man sat down, leaving a respectable amount of space between himself and the backpack.

"So, what's your name?" This one was quite the talker. He hadn't met one of those in a while. Mostly they all kept to themselves, scared to make a sound.

When there was no answer, the seemingly talkative man filled in the silence with, "Well, my name's David, but you can call me Bond. I got that name 'cause when me and my two brothers were little, we loved James Bond. Funnily enough, one of my brother's was called James. The other was called Harry-"

That was all it took for him to hurriedly pack up all his possessions, and run as fast as he could away from that park.

As his lungs burned in his chest, he tried, but failed to keep the tears at bay. He couldn't believe this had happened. His brothers were supposed to go to finish school, and go to university, and graduate, and then be successful! They weren't supposed to end up like him!

He stopped running to catch his breath and whispered, "Oh dear god, David."

~*~

This one's a bit longer than the other short stories that I've written, but I hope you enjoyed it.

Be sure to check The Fictitious Queen by @rachmiller123 , the winner of the short story competition that I hosted. Her work is truly amazing!

Also, feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes that you may find throughout the book. Don't forget to vote and comment! :)