A Short Story : A Story?

Tom Walker sat at his bedside feeling rather melancholy for he had not much to do but be chided at by his notorious witch of a wife. They both lived in their humble abode of an apartment in the middle of a city but they had a sublime view that overlooked the scenery of the domicile's dumpsters. They lived poorly, just barely getting by to afford a couple gallons of gas. Tom grew a hatred for almost everyone around and had only a handful of “friends”, he believed that money was the most valuable and important thing in his life.

Growing up, he witnessed the true desolation in poverty; his was a childhood marked by the Depression. Sadly, no grand Ithacan hall beckoned him home, for theirs was a small house, the Helds’, one where eggs was the sole dish on the royal carte du jour. Herb’s father, a man of few words and humble character, would often take rounds on the street as a panhandler, scouring the empty streets for pennies. Such was the way of man.

Could've still been whoring myself out to pay bills, if it wasn't for the lottery," he sneered. This bastard had the nerve to spew shit and garbage out of that mouth. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—worse than living a life without money, and he refused to consider another possibility. Mother degraded herself, sold her body, and skipped meals just to make sure he could have a place to live and not starve to death. From the kindness in his heart and love for her, Calvin pursued the same line of work, only so he could buy her gifts that made her smile—those moments were salvation for his struggling family life. If the money never entered his life, showering his mother with gifts would've remained a daydream, and the countless people he aided would've been denied homes, food, education, and escape from their abusers. Wealthy onlookers, captivated by the allure of mansions and private jets, neglected the pleas of those born into misfortune, and their shallow hearts allowed them to even exploit them for further

Cordelia Street, where he lived, made him feel “a shuddering repulsion of the flavorless, colorless mass of everyday existence" (90). His neighbors too, in his point of view, were "exactly like their homes, and a piece of the monotony they lived” (90). He was interested in the triumphs of “cash-boys who had become famous” (92), but had no mind for the “cash-boy stage” (92) - working up the social ladder.

At school, a boy by the name of Walter comes to school with no food. When offered some change from his teacher, Scout insists that Walter won't be able to return the money. Outside, Scout shoves Walter to the ground. When he father hears of this he exclaims to her that, ” You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view-until you climb into his skin and walk around in it” (30, Lee).

It was a hot summer’s day in NYC. Many people were out, some because they wanted to be, and others because they had nowhere else to be. A large man looked around disgustedly as he waddled down the street. His name was Stanley. For 50 years he had been living in New York, and he didn’t truly enjoy one minute of it. He had been handed everything he had ever wanted his entire childhood, and he expected the same as an adult. Though rich, his parent had been neglectful and inattentive to him, and when they were with him, they would tell him that he deserved everything he desired.

In the world full of conflict and hostility it is easy to start interpreting the negative social transformations, what directly leads to anxiety and panic. In response to the issue, Ezra tries to find inspiration for much needed optimism in his friend Sam, a direct metaphor to the United States. Sam bluntly calls the modernity a terrible time for overthinkers, suggesting that the only way to survive is to simply accept some parts of everyday life, without ever questioning them. Indeed, the possibility to acknowledge some things as being outside one’s reach creates a comfort zone which makes it possible to focus one’s energy on more mundane aspects of

On the busy street of New York, Bryan was walking in the rain. The dilapidated black suit and jeans were splattered by dirt. He looked like a beggar; in fact, he was a businessman, mediocre but fulfilled. Unfortunately, everything changed after that incident. From a devoted father and husband, he became a homeless man with no accompaniment.

“Ey, kid… kid! Why donchu wake up and get outta here!!” The dwarfish manager of the small, dimly-lit Texaco walked outside to greet the man outside in the frigid December air. The man groggily woke up, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he sat up straight. The manager scanned the man, looking at him from head to toe. He noticed that the man was young, probably 17 or 18. He could also tell that the young man was homeless, just from the dirt and grime covering a large portion of his ripped, frayed clothing. “Ey, kid, what’s yer name?” “Well... I guess my name’s Anthony; that’s what everyone in the slump calls me anyway.” “Well… Anthony,” the manager replied, “I’ll give ya $20, and I wantchu to use it wisely to get yaself outta these parts.” “Thank you

A young man, no older than fifteen, living in a quiet suburban neighborhood has just been broken heartbreaking news: his father has died. Coupled with grief and the new found stress and pressures of losing the sole economic provider for his small family unit, his mother takes on the economic burdens of the family. Not but two years later, tragedy struck this already broken household, the mother has been diagnosed with AIDS; she passes within the year. With no family left to turn to and with depression, anxiety, and desperation plaguing his every thought, the young man has no choice but to turn to the streets to seek comfort. At the tender age of seventeen he was without a home, without a family, and without a dollar to his name. He roams the

He left the office and went straight to the bedroom. He was going to see if there was anything that he could change into, but he immediately just collapsed on the bed.

In a sewer line beneath a neighborhood street, Walther stopped at a non-descript wall. His sudden change aroused Chandler’s curiosity. “So this is the place, right?”

Boom! Johnny knew that something happened being that he was the only one at work because the others went to get food. He heard a very loud sound and he got very suspicious. Boom! Johnny heard it again but instead he heard the sound from upstairs. Johnny ran up the stairs to see a kicked down door in apartment B3. He then remembered that the obnoxious Ms. Vin lives there and he tried to act as if he wasn’t there and ran down the first couple of stairs but then suddenly came an annoying loud sound which was Ms. Vin’s voice. She yelled Johnny! About 6 times even though he was right in front of her face. She then said in a mischievous “someone is in my house”. Johnny knew that Ms. Vin liked him even though her ex-husband lives right next door to her. Johnny went into the apartment to check it out when suddenly the door locked. Ms. Vin set up a date for Johnny without his permission. When she tried to offer him a piece of cake he dropped her most valuable plate and started yelling. Luckily Joe, Brad, Michael and Ryan chopped the door down and saved Johnny from completing a living nightmare. They all left locking their door downstairs so Ms. Vin couldn’t get in and they all had a feast. About 25 minutes into their feast they got an alert that on Fitzgibbon St. there was an abandoned apartment on fire. This apartment was the same apartment that the famous owl magician, Harry Hootdini, lived in a long time ago with his owner. Ryan started packing, Brad was getting the truck up and running, Johnny was making sure the squad had everything and of course Joe was eating. About 4 minutes into the chase the truck broke down. The squad panicked and didn’t know what to do. Brad came up with the idea of running because all members of the fire squad ran track in high school and college. With Brad carrying the super long hose they arrived to their destination and the fight was on. The team sprayed water and the fire was out.

Pulling on her arm, Laban drags her through the dirt, her legs scratched from rocks and debris and her hair a tangled mess. She pulls away, but he is too strong and his grasp on her arm sends shooting pains up into her neck. As they approach the tent she screams, “You can’t do this! Jacob is mine, we are in love.” Shoving her inside the tent, she fell to the ground cutting her arm on the crook of her shepherd staff; blood covers her gown. Her body aches from the jostling and cut arm, but pushing herself onto her knees, she glares up at her father, “Jacob won’t accept my sister; he will rescue me, you’ll see.” Without a word Laban leaves his daughter alone on what was supposed to be her wedding night.

As I look out my window, all I see is a deep, dark void. Then my eyes adjust. Sparkling lights slowly appear out of the blank. I look to my left, and see a brown marble, the size of my fingernail. I look back inside the ship. Machines buzz, buttons click, the engine hums. The symphony of sounds slowly faded into faint white noise.