|main menu | youngsters categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|His (standard:drama, 3407 words)|
|Author: J. Thalia||Added: Jun 19 2002||Views/Reads: 1957/1287||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Wes is a rich man who ever since he inherited a fortune, has been though as the rudest person to ever live. Sam is a poor man who lives in a shelter and even though he starves, he gives his food away. Wes has the world in his hands until he runs into Sam.|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story “My name is Sam.” The homeless man holds out his hand for a handshake. “Wow, you have a name! I'm impressed!” The man scowls at Sam's hand. “What is your name?” Sam asks. “My name?” the man turns to a woman behind him. “This homeless person wants to know my name! Do you believe that?” he turns back to Sam. “Well...my name is Wes. I don't know why you want to know—” “Nice to meet you Wes. Judging from those keys, I'd say you have a Jaguar, am I right?” “Yes, I also am the president of a major corporation, I won't bother telling you the name, I'm sure you've never heard of it. Oh, I also have 2.5 million dollars. What else do you want to know, nosey?” “Well, seeing as how you are next, and now this line is too long for me, I should leave. I hope that you have a better day, Wes.” Sam leaves. Wes gets up to the counter, and says how he'd like a vanilla cappuccino with half and half, and plenty of whipped cream. “And make it snappy!” The woman hands him his order, and tells him it'll cost $4.44. He hands her $4 and makes for the door. “Well, that man looked nice. Ooops! He forgot his 44 cents, well, I guess I'll pick up the difference,” The woman says to herself. “Next!” “Heh! Boy I showed her! Try and charge Wes Presnel $4.44 again!” He walks with a quickened step afterwards proud of his hostile ness and proud of his ‘cunningly intelligent' move. While walking home, he sees the girl sitting on the curb. The little girl, dirty and in old clothes sitting on the curb, the same curb ironically where she was left as a baby, to cry hungrily. The same little girl that Sam, hungrily gave his bag of food to. She looks back at him, reaches out an empty hand and asks for him to spare some money. “Who do you think I am? I can't just go and give you some money, because all you ugly, filthy, vermin will come crawling to me for money. And on top of that, I don't have any money to spare.” He reaches back to feel his wallet bulging with Hamilton's, and Benjamin's. He takes a sip of his coffee, and then spits it—a mouthful of coffee on the little girl. Spray drenches the little girl. The closest thing to a shower she's ever had. He laughs as she's disgusted, and he walks on. Finishing his coffee, he arrives at his mansion in the expensive area of Chicago. As he walks in, his butler greets him with a bow, and an offer to take his coat. Wes throws it on him, “Now leave me alone, I'm bushed.” “Yes sir.” The man walks off, into the great expanse of a home. Wes goes upstairs and plops in his $10,000 waterbed, tired from the day's excitement. In only his silk leopard print bikinis, he pulls the covers up to his chin and starts to sleep. Meanwhile, Sam is painting the town red with some of his best (homeless) friends. Allowing them to order anything they want on the menu, making sure he orders very little, so that they get what they want. They finish dinner; his friends in reality have taken Sam advantage, to get a meal. Leaving him broke; they go their separate ways. He starts walking back to the shelter, and decides that he wants to try the coffee place again, knowing he has no money, maybe someone would take pity for him, and give him a free one. He walks in, absolutely no one there, and everyone who is, turns and stares in his general direction. Someone gasps. He walks up to the counter. “Hi, uh I don't have any money, but I was wondering—” “It's you again! I was hoping you wouldn't come back! You made the floors so hard to clean earlier, I had to scrub them 3 times before all of that dirt came off! You want a free coffee? I don't think so buddy.” “Please lemme talk to your manager.” Sam says in desperation. “Fine,” The girl (who served Wes) goes into the back room, seconds later, she comes out followed by a man. “Can I help you, sir?” He clears his throat, and scrunches his nose at Sam. “Well, I was wondering, it is Christmas, and maybe you would give me a free coffee, I am very cold. In fact, I'll do anything just for a small cup of hot chocolate; you know wash dishes, anything. I really need this hot chocolate.” “Well, sir, I think I might be able to help you,” the manager starts walking, slowly around the counter. “I think I might be able to work something out.” “Really? That would be wonderful!” The manager puts his arm around Sam's shoulders—lightly. He starts leading Sam in the opposite direction of the counter. “Yes, I think we can work something out,” they get to the door, and the manager opens it and pushes Sam out. “When you've got some money.” Sam crosses the street to the shelter, a car comes while he's in the middle of the road, slows down for him, then noticing what type of person he is, they start to speed up again, making Sam jump out of the way. He gets to the shelter, and asks for a cot. The woman tells him that there is one left; she leads him to the spot. He sees someone lying on a bench towards the front of the shelter—cot less. He lies down, for only about a minute, then gets up and walks over to the middle-aged woman who is lying on the bench. “Ma'am, I have a cot that I think you need more than me.” “Well, I would say yes, but the secretary told me that that section of the cots are only for men.” “Don't worry about her, I'll take care of her. Now get to sleep.” “Thank you so much, how can I repay you.” She starts rummaging through her pockets. “Oh you don't need to repay me,” Sam has been in this position before, having to sleep on the bench, the worst sleep he's had in weeks. “Besides, I, uh,” he clears his throat. “I, I like the benches better anyhow.” At that instance, the woman drops the subject, and goes to the cot. Sam exhales loudly, and lies down, and tries to sleep. Across town, Wes is rustling around in his bed, having a dream. In his dream, he's swimming in a pool of money, there are women all around him, and it's probably one of the best dreams he's ever had. Suddenly, a ray of light blinds the picture perfect scene. Not light from Wes' window, but from the sky—in the dream. “Wes Presnel! What are you doing?” the light fades, down comes an angel. “Wh-who are you? What are you doing here?” Swiftly, all the women disappear, one by one; Wes watches each one go—surprised. “What are you doing?!” Faster than the women left, all of the money in the pool dissipates. Wes' body falls to the bottom, empty pool—without getting hurt. “Now, listen Wes Presnel.” The angel says. “You have taken advantage of your situation, Wes.” “What are you talking about? Where'd my money go? Where'd my women go?” “You're not listening, Wes Presnel. You're not listening. People have suffered because of your wrong doings. People have suffered, Wes Presnel.” “Why do you keep saying my full name? Why do you keep repeating yourself?” “Wes, we, in heaven have seen how you treated a young man by the name of Sam. We want you to—” “Wait. Who are we talking about here?” “Sam, the beggar you met at the coffee house, surely you remember, Wes, don't you?” “Oh, the filthy monger! I remember, he wasn't worth the dirt on the bottom of my shoes!” “That is exactly what I've come to talk to you about, Wes. Your respect for people. We have decided that you are to give two thirds of you money to this man to compensate for what you have done, Wes.” “Why would I want to do that—hey, where'd you go?” before Wes could finish the sentence, the angel was gone. Wes suddenly jumps up in bed, with a cold sweat dripping down his face; Wes gets out of bed, and looks at his clock. 8:23. “I need a coffee.” He gets in his car, to drive the 3 blocks to the coffee shop. Walking in, he sees the woman that was working there the day before. He gets to the counter, and obviously she remembers him. “Hello, Mr. Presnel. I was hoping you'd be here today.” “Well, just get me my coffee, will ya? Thanks.” She goes to get his order, while he fishes through his pockets for change. He gets extra. The woman arrives with the coffee, and he gives her the money. He starts walking towards the door. “Um, sir, this is too much.” “Yes, I know.” He walks out into the open air, the cold nipping at his already cold face. He sips his coffee. He looks in the window of the building across the street, and sees Sam. Suddenly, he feels his stomach churn, and he walks hurriedly towards his car. At that very second, Wes is a witness to the unexpected. The exit from this calamity; the intersection right in front of him is abruptly thwarts any exit from the hell that is downtown. In front of him, a collision occurs. In the middle of the intersection, two cars block any movement on that street. “Oh heck no,” looking at the crash, he sees something weird, something extraordinary. A passenger in one of the cars gets out. Chills like frozen rain drip down his spine. The person's face looks exactly like the one of the angel, in his dream. White as snow, Wes sits there looking at the angelic person. Almost as if he knows he was being watched, the person swings his head around and stares at Wes straight in the eyes. Wes' mouth drops slowly. The angel starts to shake his head. Wes, who's sitting in his car half to death, gets scared even more while watching this person shake his head. People all over are frantic about the collision, running around, using phones, and checking if others are ok, someone runs into the man. They run into him and just keep going. Almost as if he wasn't there. Almost as if the life that is restricting the passage of Wes Presnel is as lifeless as air. Wes twists the key in the ignition almost enough to break the key, switches into 1st gear, then, slamming on the gas, he turns around, in the opposite direction of the collision. Wes arrives at the other intersection quite hastily. There, he sees something else that makes him want to just jump out of his skin, his cold, goose bumpy skin. Another barrier has gotten between him and as far away from there as possible. Not so much as a feasible barrier, but a human barrier. A throng of people is just standing in the middle of the intersection. “I don't believe this!” Wes yells as he leans on the horn. “Don't any of you people hear me?” “No, they don't Wes Presnel.” “Oh my God! The scared the hell outta me!” we screams as the angel appears next to him. Breathing hard, Wes opens the door, and starts running towards his house. Again, the angel appears in front of him. “Give him the money, Wes Presnel.” “NO!” Wes about faces and just as he's about to start running in that direction, the angel appears again. “Stop running, Wes, just give him what you owe him, Wes.” “Go away!” he turns again; the angel is there, too. “No!” Wes stops, looks 360 degrees around himself, the angel is surrounding him. “NO! I WON'T!” Suddenly, it's almost as if all the air is being sucked out of the city. Choking, Wes drops to the ground, grabbing his neck, desperate for air. Again, desperate for air, but this time he jumps up in bed. “It was a dream! Boy, what a bad dream! Maid! Get me something to drink!” he falls back onto his pillow. “Oh jeez! It was only a dream!” heaving, he laughs out loud. “Oh jeez.” Calming down, Wes gets up, goes downstairs to meet his maid. “Here is your coffee sir,” the maid hands him his drink. He takes a sip, and then spits it on her. “This is the worst coffee I've ever tasted! I'm going downtown for some real coffee!” “Fine! I have tried and tried to make your life easier, and this is the respect I get! I only get criticism from you! You don't deserve me, and I don't have to take your crap! I quit!” the maid throws down her apron, and leaves. “I don't need you anyway!” Wes yells, and walks to his car. He gets in, and drives to the coffee house. “Hello, Mr. Presnel. I was hoping you'd be here today.” The woman behind the counter says, cheerfully. “Well, just get me my coffee, will ya? Thanks.” She goes to get his order, while he fishes through his pockets for change. He gets extra. The woman arrives with the coffee, and he gives her the money. he starts walking towards the door. “Um, sir, this is too much.” “Yes, I know.” He walks out into the open air, the cold nipping at his already cold face. He sips his coffee. He looks in the window of the building across the street, and sees Sam. Almost before he could realize whom he just saw, his attention is directed to his right. A car crash occurs at the intersection. Wide-eyed, Wes comprehends what is happening. “It's the dream all over again!” almost exactly like it was the previous night, he sees the man get out of the vehicle, the being that looks exactly like the angel in his dream before this one. This time, the angel isn't looking at the parked jaguar, he isn't looking inside the parked jaguar—like in Wes' dream—he's looking at the shelter. He's looking at Sam. Wes comes to realize that there is no way out of this mess. He also realizes something that he normally wouldn't realize. He doesn't want a way out of this mess. Boldly, he crosses the street. He hovers above a bum who's sitting on the curb. Without even looking who's there, Sam starts to flinch as though the person standing over him is about to hurt him because he's homeless. Wes pulls out his checkbook and a pen. “What's your last name?” he asks. No answer, Sam continues to flinch. “Maybe you didn't hear me, what is your last name—Sam?” He gasps. “M-my name? You want to know my last name? It's Coleman. Sam Coleman.” “Sam Coleman, eh?” he scribbles something on the top check. He finishes, rips it out, and hands it to Sam. Sam looks at it, doesn't realize what's happened. He then reads it again, and starts to cry. “Do you really mean to give me 1 ⅓ million dollars? Am I reading this right?” he turns to look at Wes. Wes is gone; he's started walking down the street, with a light heart. The next week “Maid I thought I asked you for a coffee! Where the hell are you? Hurry up!” He yells from upstairs. “Yes Mr. Coleman, I'm coming sir,” She runs up the stairs, spilling some of the near boiling coffee on her arm. “Here, sir,” She hands him the coffee. He sips some and spits it out. “This is the worst coffee ever! I didn't know that coffee could be that bad! I'm going downtown for some real coffee!” Sam storms off, downtown. Once downtown, he sees someone sitting in the curb, looking very, very sad. Someone he recognized from somewhere, but where was it? Sam goes up to the bum, and kicks him. “Where have I seen you before, mongrel? You look familiar.” He kicks him again. “Answer me! What is your name?” “I'm Wes Presnel. You know me because I gave you—” “Oh that's right, you're the idiot that gave a bum like me one and a third million dollars! I forgot about you. I thought you had a lot more than that, why are you sitting here, as if I really care.” “Well, I'm sitting here because although I had over eight hundred thousand dollars, I blew it all on a poker night with some of my friends, now I'm in the same position that you were in a week ago.” “Well, sucks to be you.” Sam crosses the street to get a coffee. Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
J. Thalia has 10 active stories on this site.
Profile for J. Thalia, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.