|The Gray (standard:drama, 620 words)|
|Author: C.W. Williams||Added: Aug 11 2008||Views/Reads: 1423/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|While on his way to school, a boy is attacked in midday.|
The Gray Dammit all to hell, I groan with a clenched jaw stepping out of the red line subway station on Harrison and State street. The sinister gray clouds greet me with a deep rumble of thunder that threatens to tear the sky half, vibrating the tall dark city high-rises of downtown Chicago softly. Shut the hell up, I growl, rounding the corner of State Street. It's wet, it's gloomy, and here I am on my way to class dressed in nothing but a shell of a white winter coat with no long johns, no gloves, and no hat. I'm soaked, not to mention the bone chilling winter air rips thought me like a window curtain, adding insult to injury. Leave it to your damn mother to be your weather center. A few drenched cars pass me up on the soggy street beside me, splashing muddy water into the many cracks of the tanned pavement. A red trunk honks its horn, baring its titanium fangs as the driver impatiently waits for me to pass across the exit of a raggedy parking lot. I glare at it before continuing. The green line howls madly into the afternoon sky as I high pass under its cackling shriek; vomiting buckets of murky water onto the hood of my coat. Is this God's way of punishing me for my foolish sins? Or is he just pissing on me for the hell of it? I zigzag in between the crowded sidewalk littered with other students heading to and from school, passing up begging alley bums and businessmen, finally reaching the large busy intersection of Wabash and State. The coal tinted traffic signals posted a few feet above me flash simultaneously with various colors of instructions, to both people and drivers, yet some of them just don't give a shit and ignore them; crossing the street when cars are flying forty-to fifty miles down the wide-stretched road, running the red light while people cross the damn street. And they wanna get mad when half they ass is torn off. The stoplight facing me turns green, flashing white: Walk. “Hey bruh! Yo!” a deep scraggy voice calls out over the crowd. “HEY! My man in the white coat.” My heart plunges into my stomach as I turn around, scanning the crowd. “Yeah, you.” My eyes focus a dark, bearded man dressed in a navy blue hoodie approaching me, pushing a dirty bald wrinkled man in a wheelchair. The smell of liquor assaults my nose as he grins, revealing a row of gleaming silver teeth. The old bald man grunted, wrapped in a ragged black blanket, covered with grimy stains. My first reaction was to just yell hell no and walk off, but I didn't. Something told me to listen to what he had to say, then refuse and head to class. I raised an eyebrow pointing to myself. “Me?” “Yeah, Yeah, you. Say my man, you gotta phone on you that I could use right quick? Gotta call my pops n' nem so they could pick up this ol' fool right here. I Work fo' the city so you know, just tryin to earn a paycheck. Think you can help a brotha out?” He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. I shake my head solemnly and shrug. “Sorry. I can't help you.” “Oh, 'aight then. Thanks anyways, though.” I nod, turning to began crossing the street, before I suddenly hear the man's loud voice bellow, “Get that muthafucker!” I spun around to see the old man jump up from his chair, clutching a pair of golden brass knuckles. In an instant, with no time to react, I was socked in the forehead, and all went black. Tweet
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