Never Walk Alone (standard:fantasy, 1619 words)
Author: Frederico Bonanza	Added: Apr 06 2004	Views/Reads: 2964/1903	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The short lives of the two main characters are described to us from their own unique perspective. With Heart-felt moments, several humorous ones and a slightly unexpected ending, it engages the reader to think about things in an alternative way.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

stitches that she put in to hold it. We knew that she would have it 
seen to properly the following day. Sobbing bitterly, she made her way 
upstairs. 

As good as new, my brother left the grubby little surgery with me the
next morning. Ruth had dropped us off earlier that morning, but she was 
nowhere to be seen now to collect us. The man who had so kindly fixed 
my brother's head, was now talking to another man outside the surgery 
or whatever it was. We left with this man. As I expected she would 
sooner or later, Ruth had become fed up with us and had traded us in 
again. We were on the road again, but to where this time? In the back 
of the small van we were thrown about a little. The driver was not as 
good as we had been used to in Hollywood. We missed Hollywood. It 
seemed so far away now. 

Shortly afterwards, we were snapped up by a charity organisation for
homeless people in Detroit. Our job was to strive to make their 
everyday existence, as comfortable as we possibly could. Unfortunately, 
this involved wandering the streets with them on many a night, as they 
begged for food. I suppose the embarrassment of having to scrounge for 
what they could, was made a little easier by our company. Of course, 
the organisation did as much as they could involving food during the 
days and shelter during the night. 

My brother and I had heard stories from friends of what it was like to
roam the streets, but we never had heard about some of the harsher 
realities it involved. From the clean, bright streets of Hollywood, to 
threading in urine and muck and God knows what else? It did not seem 
right. But we were just commodities. All we ever wanted was to be 
treated half as well as most humans. We were bought and sold and abused 
and exploited. That was our purpose in life. Strange to say it, even 
stranger for you to hear it I'm sure, nearing twenty years of age now 
myself and my brother began to believe that our best days were long 
behind us. We were falling apart in every possible sense. We just were 
not getting the care that we required and out on the streets each day 
took its toll on us eventually. The rainy days were the worst. We 
simply had no protection from it anymore, and no matter how we tried 
recovery from cold was an ever increasing struggle. But to fulfil our 
duty in life, was to make others feel comfortable. There was no time to 
think about ourselves. Nobody even looked at us on the street anymore 
when we walked with winos. Glamour had long forgotten us. 

Our stint at the charity organisation lasted all of a month. After that,
we were simply too incapacitated to continue with our work. My brother 
had been struck down with a strange internal infection which was caused 
by the unhygienic environment in which we were, and Christy, the wino 
who owned us now, had done nothing to help him. I suffered a lot with 
the strain of bunions. How we missed Clint's clean feet, or even Jack's 
bunion-free ones for that matter. 

Well, the charity organisation was quick to provide Christy with a
strapping new pair of buckled, slip-ons. They looked hideous compared 
to us. I, personally, felt nothing but sympathy for them. To live on 
Christy's feet was to have no life at all. I just hoped that they might 
have been lucky enough to have tasted stardom earlier in their lives as 
we had. It made it all worth while, even if it did not last nearly long 
enough. 

I lie in a garbage-can now. Down a back-alley, I think. I presume we're
still in Detroit. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way I lost my 
brother. He had been a little worse-for-wear the last time I had seen 
him though so perhaps he was not missing me as much as I missed him. 
The repair that they had done on him at cobbler's surgery (I think it 
was), was merely a temporary one. In fact, it was only two months he 
had had before the day he had lost his sole. I hope he's in a better 
place than me at this very moment. I hope I get the chance to visit him 
again some day. 


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