The Old Man on Birch StreetThe first time I saw him he was sitting on an old metal bench along the sidewalk of Birch Street. I'll admit I was judgmental like everyone else. His face was thin and had quite defined cheekbones. His skin was wrinkled from old age and a rough life, I guessed. His eyes were grey, almost a faded blue, and hardened. He wore a pair of black pants that were too short on him, and so thin that I guessed his legs were numb from the cold. His tattered old coat also had holes and was probably older than the man himself. The man's nose was very defined; despite his ragged clothes, the man's facial structure made me think that he should be royalty.
It was beginning to snow again, and I was in a bad mood. Work was intense and I was sick of the snow. Being single and a young man of twenty-four, I was all-consumed with my job and, mostly, myself. I never had time to stop and talk with beggars on the street; well, I never made time all they ever wanted was money. And I had far more i
A Reason to LiveIf only she had the guts to actually do it, to just leap among the cold waves and sink in death among the fish. She breathed in the smell and taste of saltwater, and water sprays hit her face, neck, and chest. She shivered slightly in the breeze from the waves, but she wasn’t really bothered by the chill. What weighed on her mind was something much deeper than the weather.A Reason to Live2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A pang of apprehension penetrated her heart as she envisioned her body being plunged into the water and weighted down by the strong waves. She thought about what it would be like to gulp in mouthful after mouthful of water, choking and never feeling any relief, but she didn’t think the pain could be any worse than what she was already dealing with.
“Aimée!” The young woman moved her arms in circular motions as she tried to keep her balance. Her mother’s call startled her, and for a brief moment she thought God might be
SuicideShe was artsy.Suicide5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
She was odd.
She was a victim of the mob.
No one liked her.
No one cared.
They'd make fun or sit and stare.
She didn't cry.
She didn't fight.
She just let them take her rights.
A month went on,
And then one more.
All of their ridicules, alone she bore.
It all built up,
Until one night.
The "bulb" went off- she saw false light.
She chose her fate,
Then and there.
No one would miss her, since no one cared.