Are YOU ready to compete in the Ultimate Writing Challenge? The rules are simple. ?

Question

Okay. I answered another question similar to this and was inspired to do the same. I give a topic, you guys write about the topic. The best story wins ten points. It's that simple. Today's theme is:

Poverty. Write a story from first or third person view, about poverty. Good luck!

(The length of the story is not set. But please, don't give a wise, two-sentence answer....>.>)

Answer 1

He was resting in the bus shelter near the supermarket. It wasn't a particularly cold night, but his legs were getting shaky, and the shopping cart with his blankets and notebooks seemed to be getting harder and harder to push. Only one more block to go. He had enough change to buy a can of soup and a roll. That would see him through until tomorrow afternoon, if he rationed them. He moved his toes gingerly in his worn socks and his laced-up boots, wincing at the pain. The sores weren't getting better. If the weather turned sunny in the next day or two, he'd risk lying out on the grass by the overpass awhile and air them out.

He coughed. Maybe he'd ask one of the clerks if he could have a cup of coffee, maybe. They were pretty nice to him, so long as he didn't come into the store, just sat outside on one of the metal benches. He closed his eyes. He didn't like begging. He had his pride. Sometimes people would give him a hand, just because. They were the good ones. They understood. Sometimes they even asked how he was doing. He'd always tell them, okay. I'm okay.

     -"Lookit him. Stinkin' up the bus stop."

     "Hey!, m*****f****r, why don't you take a f*****n bath?"

     Oh, god...let them just swear at him and go away---

      -"Hey! I'm talkin' to you, s***head!"

      He lifted his eyelids just a bit, so he could see without them noticing. If you looked at them directly, they attacked. Like dogs.

      There were six or seven of them, at least. Teenagers, he guessed, not too old. Just the worst age. You couldn't be sure of them.

       "Lookit the c**p in his shopping cart!---Hey, f****r, you got any cash stashed in here?--Jeez, it stinks!--Hey, what's this?"

       God. His notebooks. He pulled himself up, pushed by two of them,  reached out towards the cart. They were pulling his things out of it, throwing them on the ground--

      "You get away from here!", he bellowed, with all his breath, waving his arms. "You've got no right--"

       Someone pushed him hard from behind. His legs gave out. He fell heavily on the street, face first. Then they began kicking him. He heard them dragging the cart onto the asphalt. Someone gave a short high laugh. Then they pushed the cart over on top of him. Then they laughed. And ran. He heard the sound of their expensive sneakers slamming onto the pavement as they ran. Then it was quiet.

     Oh god...I'm going to die, he thought. Tonight. He tried to move. Pain. Everywhere. The weight of the cart crushing him. Oh god. Here in the night, on the street...

***************

       He heard footsteps, then voices. A man's voice. A woman's answering him. He couldn't tell what they were saying...

          The cart shifted on top of him, then was lifted away. He curled up, his eyes shut. A hand on his shoulder.

         "Hey, buddy--what happened?---I know this guy---I told you about him--Oh, jeez, he's hurt!---Buddy--Can you get up?" An arm around him, lifting him strongly, gently.

         -Should I call 911?- The woman's voice, full of concern.

         No, he thought, not the police or the doctors! They'll take me away and everything I have will be lost!---"No!, he croaked, Don't call---I'm okay!--Please!"

          "God--are you sure?" The man leaned close. He recognized his face now. One of the people who stopped to ask how he was-one of the good ones.

          "Yes---just get me to the bench by the market--they can't get me there---fifteen of them--knocked me over!--" He felt sick, and dizzy--he just wanted to make it stop, make it go away. The woman put coins in his hand. "I think I found it all", she said. She smelled like cigarettes and rain.

            The cart was upright. He stood shakily by himself. The man was putting his things back in the cart. But the cart was leaning. One of the wheels had bent. The man finished and came back to him.

          "Can I help you walk?" He couldn't answer. And then they were walking, slowly, the woman pushing and dragging the cart. Across the intersection, moving slowly towards the market. He would have fallen had the man not held him. He felt blood trickling down his leg. It hurt to breathe. Just before they reached the market, he pulled himself away from the man's arm, gripped onto the cart.

       "I'm okay. Thanks. I'm okay...You go on and let me be. I can make it from here."

        He had his pride, after all. He had to hold on to that, at least. He was a man.

         "Are you sure?"

        He forced himself to nod. "Go on. I'm obliged to you."

       And they left him, looking back more than once. He stood upright, holding his cart. breathing in the night air, looking down the hill to the lights of the market.

**************

When the couple came back, heading towards home, an hour later, he and the cart were gone.

They never saw him again.

Answer 2

I fell to the ground in exhaustion, unable to hold myself up any longer. The sun, radiating heat in it's knife sharp rays, was burning away my pain, crawling under my skin and melting the will to survive any more. I knew I wasn't going to live much longer anyway.

I closed my weary eyes and could almost hear myself losing conciousness. I had been so used to being hungry and weak that the deep ache in my stomache and chest had been forgotten, but now it returned with vengeance. I could hear the desperate cries of children close by, starved on the streets without any hope of being saved. I knew how they felt... I knew exactly how they felt.

I opened my eyes weakly, unsure of what reality was anymore. A shadow fell over the area of which I layed; I saw a man in a suite standing over me, his hair combed and his shoes shined. Closing my eyes for the last time, I knew I was going to die when his shoe tapped my side and his voice broke the peaceful silence.

"It's a shame they die so young."