Toboe's short story thread (^0^)

Ok, this will be where I post short stories that I have written, as the title says. Anyone who reads this is free to comment, critique etc. my short story, in fact I hope you will. I want to start writing more so I feel that it is important that I get constructive feedbkac. I thank all of my readers in advance. Without further ado, here is my first story.

"The Sun Will Never Rise Again"
The bus exhaust made him choke for an instant,
as it pulled away from the curb.
He shrugged his knapsack over his left shoulder,
and started walking down the sidewalk.
He had purposely disembarked the bus more than a mile from his dingy one room apartment that sat above a lonely Chinese acupuncture clinic,
hoping that something would happen to break the long monotony of his day.
He shuffled along looking at the ground as he absentmindedly kicked
rocks from his path .
The chilled wind blew past his face, making him squint.
He was looking for someone to talk to, but he knew no one for many miles around.
Three years had already passed since he had seen someone that he knew, no one had even called.
The sun rose, its rays seeming to lie with their fiery brightness. . “Some people talk about an apocalypse, but I think that the sun gets a little dimmer every day until it will no longer shine at all.” He mused to himself.
As brilliant as the sun was shining, he knew the temperature would not top forty degrees today. He looked up and realized in was standing in front of the worn steps that led up to his apartment.
In an effort to stall for time he took out a smoke from his almost empty pack and lit it.
A thought entered his head, a memory, a rare happy one, from another life, but it left his tired mind before he could grasp it, savor it.
He lifted the cigarette to his mouth to take a drag ,
only to find that it was burning his finger .
He dropped it with a nearly silent curse.
He turned and went inside .
Trudging slowly up the stairs he reached into his pocket for the keys.
Once he was inside, he lay down on his mattress and tried to fall asleep.
The sun was making weird designs out of the capillaries in his eyelids.
For the second time that morning he cursed the sun.
He never realized that he had fallen asleep.
He woke up at four pm, and spent a few minutes clearing the fog out of his brain.
The sun was setting in purple rays that seemed to depress him further.
Waking up depressed only seems to exponentially exacerbate the condition.
He realized that it was still a few hours before he had to be at his night security job in downtown Seattle.
He thought of something to do to occupy his time but he couldn’t think of anything he hadn’t done for the past year, like go to the library, or hang out in the cafes or book stores, always hoping to meet a friend, but never having the courage to talk to anybody.
He had always loved books, it may sound cliché , but it was always his escape, even before he had left home at sixteen. He laughed at the memory of his mother bringing out baked potatoes for dinner, actually the birthday party of his sister, but he was really laughing at the surprised expressions on the faces of the guests as they slowly realized that this was intended to be the entire dinner, not an appetizer or a side dish.


The laugh at the memory was of course an automatic reaction , intended to stop the pain, the harsh memory of the embarrassment.
The embarrassment , or rather the pain from it ran deep , it scarred his psyche in a way that could never be repaired.
He should never have thought of his mother. It brought back memories of the past that had been buried, he had thought forever, but memories are like the ghosts he used to believe in , the stories and movies, in that you could never get them to leave, in fact it seemed that the harder one tried to get rid of them the stronger they returned, the more vicious.
All the repressed anger , the present loneliness came back overwhelming him like a tsunami, washing over him.
His trembling fingers lit another cigarette.
This is stupid he thought , to himself, getting all worked up over nothing.
I’ll just finish my cigarette and go for a walk.

As he walked, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his thoughts wandered.
His life, he realized was a stalemate, he was tired of trying to figure out who was right, or who was wrong. He traced in his mind the events of the last three years, every word spoken, and every action undertaken. He reminisced about his dreams, the ones he used to conjure up in the blackness of his room at night when he failed to fall asleep.
He tried in vain to imagine a bright future, but every path his mind ventured down seemed to be block in some fashion as if his life was a game, and all the options were unacceptable.
He found himself once again in front of his apartment. The clock on his left wrist glared a steady 6:00 pm.
Showering and shaving, he slowly put on his uniform, the clip-on tie poking uncomfortably into his neck as always.
He moseyed over to the ARBY’S a block away and ordered the Five sandwich special for four ninety-nine.
Sitting at the bus stop he began to open the warm bag to get a roast beef, when he remembered that he had not yet bought his daily copy of USA Today. Setting the bag down on the bench he walked over to the newsstand and put fifty cents into the machine.
He glanced over his shoulder behind him, and noticed without thought the arrival of a large woman and her children to the bus stop, where his bag was.
Having accomplished his errand he turned to return to his seat. When he walked back up to the bench he was slightly annoyed to see the fat woman feeding his lunch to her child.
Already in a bad mood, he shouted at her, asking her in vulgar terms why she was stealing his only lunch for the night.
Feeling too angry to articulate, in spite of his usual eloquence, he kicked the bag from off of the bench and walked to the nearest fast food place across the street.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, its bright LED digits proclaiming the dead of night. The city streets that were visible through the immaculate glass in the shiny brass framed doors made the city seem a lonely place.


He walked out the huge glass double doors, and went to stand on the side of the colossal skyscraper, into the alley.
He lit a smoke and took a deep drag. Finishing it, he dropped the smoldering butt, and reached for his holster. Pulling out his 9 mm pistol, cocked it, and put the barrel in his mouth. Laughing cynically, he wondered how long it would take them to find his body, how long before someone noticed, or even cared.
The city seemed to fade away as if it was only an illusion to begin with.
He slowly began to pull the trigger.
He was startled back into reality by the loud click, letting him know that the safety was still on. He turned off the safety, but was halted abruptly before he could complete the self murder.
It was a scream, all too human. He could guess by the tone, pitch and intensity that it came from a state of pain, of distress. Looking around his immediate surroundings he noticed a foot protruding from behind the dumpster. Holstering his gun as he walked, he went to investigate.
He found a man lying prostrate on the dark pavement, his chest oozing blood.
A knife handle protruded from the left side of his upper torso.
Feeling a rush of adrenaline he ran back inside, his black shoes screeching on the marble floors, he wrested the phone from its cradle and dialed nine-one-one.
Soon the silence of the night was broken by the wail of sirens and the bustle of busy hands.
Long after the police and the ambulances had left he sat at his desk for a long time, holding the pencil to write his daily report, but he didn’t write he didn’t move all the movement was in his head.
Early dawn brought a light grey hue to the lobby, creating shadows as the sun emerged.
He stretched, tired from the long eventful night, as his relief came into the lobby, and started to prepare for the day’s work.

Days later, no one remembered the citation from the mayor, or the letter of accommodation from the company. People went about their drab lives as they always had. Even the man whose life he saved lost touch after a while.
Right after the incidence, he had felt elated, like a burden had been lifted, but now he was sure that it was there to stay.

Nothing had really changed for him. He was still waiting, although he couldn’t say for what exactly. Maybe just waiting for life to start, but that incident did not jump-start his life, there was no epiphany, and he had just lost his will to kill himself, sinking to an all new low of apathy.

He takes a big swig of coffee and relaxes back in his chair. The same old view he was looking at before. It seems like he had always been right here. He turns on the radio for some music, but then changes his mind and switches it off.
“Where do I go from here?” He wonders aloud to himself. No one answers. The gold and brass of the lobby he sits in gleams dull against the approaching dawn. He stands up. “I think I’ll go smoke another cigarette” he proclaims to the world as an ambulance siren awakens the city to another day.

Out in the alley he lit his cigarette and stared aimlessly at the sky.
Taking a deep lungful he blew the smoke out into the frigid dawn. “Yep, the sun is definitely weaker today than it was yesterday.” He decides as he stomps his cigarette out. “I wonder how long it will take until the sun never rises again?” He asks a pigeon, who squawks in reply. “Hmm, I might as well smoke another one then.” He says.

Cars are lined up waiting for him to open the garage, as he stands in the alley smoking, pretending not to notice.