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The Gray (standard:drama, 620 words)
Author: C.W. WilliamsAdded: Aug 11 2008Views/Reads: 1423/0Story 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. 


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