a writer with a million tabs open on her laptop, looking for inspiration and scribbling on a google document <3

Message to Readers

So this was sort of a cross between horror, atheism, and suspense. I do not pride myself on being a very good writer, so PLEASE give me feedback on how I can improve, in ANY way.

None of them [title brainstorming in progress]

October 7, 2020


It was a slow day. The line kept on moving, but only within ten minutes would the next customer get his chance. And there were at least a hundred people in front of me.
In demeaning frustration, I kicked the dustbin to my right with outstanding force. A pitiful groan rose from behind the dustbin, and I realized that I hit a homeless vagabond, or whatever you call them. I didn’t know what to do, but he did; pushing the bin aside, he revealed himself to me, tattered clothes and a matted white beard.
He held out his hands to ask for money, and even though I don’t usually feel it as my responsibility to sponsor the homeless, I took out a crisp twenty dollar bill and slipped it into his white, cold hands. With a recognizable “God bless you” mumble, he put the bill in his side pocket of his worn-out trench. From what his mannerism told me, he used to be well off once. 
“Thank you, gentleman.” His accent was almost British, but the hoarseness of his voice hid the nationality of his true tongue. “God will forever be with you. Believe in God, son. Don’t let what happened to me happen to you.”
I was intrigued by his words. For some reason, I was desperate to keep talking, to continue knowing more. I shuffled in my place, bent down and sat in an awkward position ignoring the hot day and the length of the line, and asked what he meant.
“Ah, gentleman,” he began, “I was rich and lived with my family on the top of a hill once. My beautiful wife, my darling daughter and my beloved dog, Paul. We had nothing to want for, we had everything we needed. I didn’t believe in God. I believed in myself, my wealth, and my family. I was happy. I was happy living there with my family.”
After a very short pause, he continued, his voice getting heavier. “There was a fire. Out of nowhere. My wife shrieked in terror, holding our daughter close. Paul was already victim to the flames. I was trying to do something, trying to avoid the flames, and trying to rescue my family. But the windows were closed, the stairs were burnt and black, and there was nowhere else to go. The firemen came, they tried. But none of us made it out alive.”
With a quivering voice, sounding like he was about to cry, he shivered and told me, “I lost everything. I lost all my money, and something more than that. And I lost my family. Everything can be lost and favored to return, but the people I love can’t. If I had believed in God and been his child, and loved him like a son loves his father, he would’ve been there to save my family.”
I felt extremely sad for him. He was crying, in muffled sobs and soft tears. I felt incredible pity for him in my stone cold heart, and bade him farewell and good luck after giving him more bills than just a twenty to manage with. I believed him for a reason I couldn’t quite comprehend.
As I turned to look at him one last time, he was gone. Like, literally gone. The other side of the bin was a wall he couldn’t run through, and I didn’t see him go anywhere. It was miraculous. Within the blink of an eye, he vanished. 
I did not think much about it for a long time, blaming my lack of brain efficiency on the unbearable heat.  As the line kept on moving, I started to wonder about what the old man said. He didn’t believe in God, he didn’t love him. And he thought that was the reason God wasn’t with him to save his family. And then it hit me like a wave of fast moving water- he said he lost his money, and something more than that. He said that none of them made it out alive.
None of them made it out alive.


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  • October 7, 2020 - 4:52am (Now Viewing)

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