The Outcast

The Outcast

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WpMetadataReadВ процессе<5 min
WpMetadataNoticeLast published срд, июн. 29, 2016
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Fiction
Mystery
On this one day in particular, my life changed forever. As I put on my favorite sweatshirt and old sneakers that were near in need of replacement, I felt something shift in my universe. "But this is what I do every morning?" I questioned myself, although that sounded incomplete. I grabbed a pop tart and walked out onto the dusty street, not sure what would come next. Surely this was just a feeling, maybe I'm ill. As I walked around the corner, I almost walked into two men who were fighting quite fiercely. One man was holding another against a wall, pounding him with a bloody fist which I was unsure was drenched in his victim's blood or his own. I knew I had to do something to help this man, I couldn't just let him be treated this way. I found a large grey piece of broken concrete on the ground and hurled it at the attacker's head. He stumbled to the ground with a loud grunt and lay there barely moving. I looked with wide eyes and took in what i had done. I looked at my hands, scratched by the piece of old concrete without speaking. I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped at the soft touch. It was the man who had been beaten by the one I had just hit. He smiled at me "Thank you." he told me. I attempted a smile back, but couldn't create any words. "It's ok." he told me "You've done nothing wrong." "Nothing wrong?!" I screeched "He's lying in a pool of his own blood barely breathing and I did nothing wrong?!" The man looked at me with pain in his eyes "And you know what would've happened if you didn't?" he countered. I looked at him bewildered. He took my hand "Let's get out of here before anyone catches us." he says, dragging me down the broken street.
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