dreamsbegone
03-20-2006, 12:19 PM
The Newspaper Boy
"life is hard though it won't last, today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be past"
In one ordinary day of his life he woke up to face the misery he used to face everyday. He woke up at 6 o'clock to be exact. He was sleeping in his so called "room". The walls were all cracked. Cracks which were inhabited by insects of all kinds. Spider webs in the corners. It was a very comfortable place for them to live in especially when the boy did not care or mind. They didn't bother him at all. He slept on a very thin sheet on the ground and covered himself with an almost torn blanket. It was so old, that blanket. He walked his ay through the room. His hand reached the rusty knob of the half-opened door. He opened the door and went to the bath.
The house was so old and without a garden. It had three rooms, he used one and his old mother used the other one while the third was a small kitchen where they made that little food they had. The boy's father had already been dead for six years. He was a police man who died in duty.
The boy looked at himself in the mirror. His hair needed a cut and his beards was growing. He washed his hands and face. Sometimes he wished he was never born because of the big responsibility he had. He had to feed his mother and also had to keep the house. He went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He drank it with a small piece of bread and cheese. It was a simple meal but it was enough to recover some of his strength. He kept the rest for his old woman. He didn't want to wake her up. Nay, he was glad that she was asleep. He wanted her to have rest. She used to stay up late to make sure that he doesn't need anything although she was sick. He went upstairs on the almost demolished ladder. He brought his newspapers from the dusty room up there. They were like over 260 ones. They were wrapped with nylon. He picked them up and walked down the stairs carefully with heavy steps. He dropped them at the main door and went inside. He grabbed his weather jacket. The same jacket he had been wearing for years. It was all dusty and very uncomfortable. It even had small holes in the lower left part. Nevertheless, it kept him a little warm so he kept it. He put it on and went outside again for his papers. He knew that a long day was waiting for him.
He started walking in the long street where his house lay. He held his newspapers so tied. Of course for they were his only income. He did think of having a second job but he didn't have the time for it. The street was so dirty there were frozen water pools and dirt puddles spread randomly. It was so empty. A tree was standing still. At first it was like a figure, a ghost , but as he became closer the picture got clear. It was grand. It stood the cool of winter. It was like a valiant knight that made it through a devastating war where no one survived. He reached the end of the road and stood there waiting for the bus. It had been five minutes since he stopped walking. His feet were ached. The papers were so heavy. Cold was sneaking into his fingers slowly. He was thinking all the way from home and he kept thinking while he was standing there holding his papers. The wind blew slightly. It whispered to his ears and touched his neck. At last the bus arrived. The door opened and a man helped the boy get on. He had to stand up in the bus because of the newspapers. The bus moved as the boy looked through the window at the sky that was covered with clouds. it was cold and it began raining.
"life is hard though it won't last, today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be past"
In one ordinary day of his life he woke up to face the misery he used to face everyday. He woke up at 6 o'clock to be exact. He was sleeping in his so called "room". The walls were all cracked. Cracks which were inhabited by insects of all kinds. Spider webs in the corners. It was a very comfortable place for them to live in especially when the boy did not care or mind. They didn't bother him at all. He slept on a very thin sheet on the ground and covered himself with an almost torn blanket. It was so old, that blanket. He walked his ay through the room. His hand reached the rusty knob of the half-opened door. He opened the door and went to the bath.
The house was so old and without a garden. It had three rooms, he used one and his old mother used the other one while the third was a small kitchen where they made that little food they had. The boy's father had already been dead for six years. He was a police man who died in duty.
The boy looked at himself in the mirror. His hair needed a cut and his beards was growing. He washed his hands and face. Sometimes he wished he was never born because of the big responsibility he had. He had to feed his mother and also had to keep the house. He went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He drank it with a small piece of bread and cheese. It was a simple meal but it was enough to recover some of his strength. He kept the rest for his old woman. He didn't want to wake her up. Nay, he was glad that she was asleep. He wanted her to have rest. She used to stay up late to make sure that he doesn't need anything although she was sick. He went upstairs on the almost demolished ladder. He brought his newspapers from the dusty room up there. They were like over 260 ones. They were wrapped with nylon. He picked them up and walked down the stairs carefully with heavy steps. He dropped them at the main door and went inside. He grabbed his weather jacket. The same jacket he had been wearing for years. It was all dusty and very uncomfortable. It even had small holes in the lower left part. Nevertheless, it kept him a little warm so he kept it. He put it on and went outside again for his papers. He knew that a long day was waiting for him.
He started walking in the long street where his house lay. He held his newspapers so tied. Of course for they were his only income. He did think of having a second job but he didn't have the time for it. The street was so dirty there were frozen water pools and dirt puddles spread randomly. It was so empty. A tree was standing still. At first it was like a figure, a ghost , but as he became closer the picture got clear. It was grand. It stood the cool of winter. It was like a valiant knight that made it through a devastating war where no one survived. He reached the end of the road and stood there waiting for the bus. It had been five minutes since he stopped walking. His feet were ached. The papers were so heavy. Cold was sneaking into his fingers slowly. He was thinking all the way from home and he kept thinking while he was standing there holding his papers. The wind blew slightly. It whispered to his ears and touched his neck. At last the bus arrived. The door opened and a man helped the boy get on. He had to stand up in the bus because of the newspapers. The bus moved as the boy looked through the window at the sky that was covered with clouds. it was cold and it began raining.