My Kind

This is a story of what is really in the mind of a homeless person.

The trees rustle. Most people just pass me. Is my kind really that apauling to some people that they have to avoid eye contact. Do they realy think we all got here the same way: drugs, alcohol, stupidity? They're wrong. I got here because my dream didn't fall into place, unlike the rest of the worlds population.                                   

Or did they even dream? Did they decide to take the easy, safe path, that was to just follow their friends and parents.           A lady walks past me and puts a five dollar bill into my mug. I don't say 'thank you', I just nod my head. I won't talk to them anymore. They are the ones who took away my house, and sent me to the streets.

But sometimes it isn't that bad, the worries are gone, well most of them. The important worries are gone. The worries of finance, and careers are gone; but the worries that are not as important to this world are still here: family , food, and shelter. Those insignificant details wonder in my head.

The sun is going down, the purple clouds fill the sky. Sometimes I can't count on getting food, or having shelter, but I always know the sun will go down and it will always come back up.

Another lady walks past me, her golden locks shed down her torso. She stops and looks at me, minutes past this is seeming a little rude. She puts a hunder dollar bill into my mug. She doesn't leave.  " Where are you sleeping tonight?" she asks. I don't know what to say, usually people insult me, but her voice is full of genuine kindness. My voice is not.     " Look around lady," I say,  " Where you sit, and wait for the bus is my bed," my voice is full of sarcasm. I hate myself.           She looks hurt, like I've just slapped her in the face. She starts walking away.           No point in going after her. She will tell me she knows this great shelter or maybe she will give me money for a hotel. But tonight I'd rather sleep under the stars that I can't see because all of the sky-scrappers and unneeded lights that have gone around, no tonight I want to sleep under the black sky.

Author's Note

I know my grammar is horrid. Just please, tell me what I can do to make this better.

Reviews

[Stephen K]

I agree with Lizanne. Aside from some editing, this is a great story. You do an excellent job with your character, his/her point of view, and I really like your vivid descriptions of the rustling trees, sun setting and purple sky, and skyscrapers. It makes you feel as if you were there. Beautifully written. Well done.

[Lizanne]

Rachel, This is a very touching and interesting story. I wonder how it came about? You have surely touched on the true feelings of a homeless person. A lot of thought and detail went into this story. To say that you want to make it better shows that you are really interested in your writing. There is not that much wrong with it. Just a little brushing up and you will have an interesting word portrait of a homeless face lost in the sea of concrete.