Unfinished story - need some advice!

A Story by Miked14

In the process of writing a short story, not sure where I should go from here?

Jim, known as 'Jimbo' to his friends - or just 'worthless, degenerate scum-of-the-earth' to anyone else - had been a statistic all his life, used as a point of data in every metric that the government wheeled out to show how the youth of society was failing. His contribution was marked on figures representing juvenile delinquency, exam failure, drug use and every other category that came under the broad heading of 'drain on society'.

Jim was presently pondering a statistic of his own invention: in his whole life, this had been the first time he had ever seen a man with a brief case convulse and drop dead in front of him.

It was an odd statistic to be thinking about. After all, how many people were likely to witness a similar situation and, more importantly, what exactly could one do with this kind of data?

Perhaps this was why numbers and in-depth thoughts rarely featured in Jim's mental processes. Jim's simple mental machinery was not often stirred by statistical and analytical contemplations. In fact, Jim's brainwaves rarely operated on a more sophisticated plane than that of a couple fireflies sitting and arbitrarily blinking in a glass jar - such were the effects of the pot-smoking, binge drinking pursuit of general brain cell extermination that Jim had embarked on ever since discovering those seductive, mind-numbing vices of the teenage world.

So instead he sat on the bench, stupefied, with a slack, dribbling jaw and an unintelligible expression. It looked as if smoke was about to start coming out of his ears due to the strain this unexpected and unexplainable event was placing on the rusty clockwork of his brain - or perhaps he was just back to the glass jar and fireflies.

Either way, he was now stuck facing this unusual peculiarity, one that had staggered up and then dropped itself lifeless at his feet.

In his younger days, Jim had been a boy of many dreams and schemes, many of his boyish machinations had been realised in this neighbourhood. From shoplifting to fights with school kids, this area had provided the the setting for the whirlwind of misdemeanours and troublemaking that had landed him in his present position.

And what was this present position? Well it could be summed up by a snapshot of his current semblance: a 17 year old kid in a creased t-shirt, faded ripped jeans, alone, on a bench, red-eyed, dishevelled, desultory, lethargically sucking on a joint.

A 'drain on society'.

No one in the world had any care for Jimmy, so he had stopped caring about everyone else in return.

Except perhaps, at this moment, he cared a little bit about the fella' who'd just bitten the dust, very spectacularly, right before his eyes.

To go through it again, Jimbo had been minding his own business, sitting by himself on a bench in the local park, having a puff - as he did virtually everyday - when, out of left field, a man had walked up to him and collapsed. The man had on a nice tailored suit, with dark, slicked-back hair but other than that it was difficult to gather anything else about the guy in the short time before he had fallen face first into the mud.

Now would have been a good time to call an ambulance, or maybe the police, however, in a state of marijuana induced torpor, Jim was largely inoculated against any sort of logical decision making. So instead, naturally, Jim took the man's briefcase and ran.

...?