Thread: God's Orphan

It was noon on Saturday in downtown Pueblo. Although the winter sun had reached its zenith it hung strangely low in the southern sky, its light was pale, soft and filtered. The day was pleasantly warm except for the occasional breeze that cut me sharply as it blew by. It was a needling reminder that the Queen of Summer had made her graceful exit long ago. Her luminous sister, Dame Winter, was our sovereign now; ruling us with her chill and her coldness that was sometimes white, sometimes gray.

What struck me odd was the absence of the traffic that moved through the city and the cars that usually snuggled next to the sidewalk, bumper to bumper, patiently waiting for their owners to return. The traffic signals turned red to green to red like a conductor leading an imaginary orchestra and playing to a non-existent audience. I could smell the evergreen trees that grew out of the sidewalks in three foot patches of dry red dirt and they gave the oily fragrance of the city an undertone of incense. I felt isolated and small; dwarfed by the office buildings that made up a majestic, silent garden of glass and steel, cement and asphalt.

And in the stead of the people who moved to and fro on mysterious errands and the ones who leaned against the buildings or hid in little alcoves smoking, there was one lone man. He wore a coat that was the faded black that comes from much use and exposure to the outdoor elements. His hair had the waxy sheen of a worn leather shoe; smooth, satiny, but not shiny, and it hung in greasy strings. Somehow I knew that if I was near enough or if the breeze blew in the right direction I would be able to smell him, that stale odor of a body that hadn’t had the luxury of a bath or shower in some time. One of God’s orphans, he traveled with a gait that was an odd cross of a march and a shuffle. It wasn’t what I would call a walk but more of a series of broken falls. It seemed as though he managed to get a foot beneath his body right before he plunged head first to the ground. His head was down and his eyes were focused blankly toward the sidewalk. Unaware of his surroundings it seemed as if he was pulled along by an invisible, magnetic force that he could not resist.

I tried to pretend I didn’t see him while keeping him in my peripheral vision and I listened intently to the drag, slap, drag, slap of his very stylized walk just in case he approached me. Calm and nonchalant on the exterior I was poised for flight on the inside. But he continued along drawn by his own puppet master to the destination that only he had knowledge of and he ignored my presence altogether.

You have some great imagery here, it really sets a nice picture. But it is difficult to read because it is a long paragraph. I think breaking it up into smaller paragraphs would make it more manageable for the reader and really let your excellent imagery shine, rightly so.

This is a good short story. As the person above me stated I like the imagery of everything you described. It was very unique, because everyday mundane objects you in essence brought to life. I like the set up of everything turning towards this dreary/cold almost disconnect and how that describes the homeless mans domineer and position in the story. Keep up the good work.

Great imagery in this. I agree with bemo12, it's tough on the eyes to read such a dense block of words. I'm with joesmo on the character description of the homeless man it came across really well, I could almost see and smell him. One problem that caught my eye, the sentence...

"I could smell the evergreen trees that grew out of the sidewalks like weeds in a majestic, silent garden of glass and steel, cement and asphalt."

This sounds like the trees are the garden of glass and steel. The image of the trees as weed in the sidewalk doesn't come to me, the image that come of weed in a sidewalk is crabgrass and dandelions. I know what you're trying to say, but I think this one sentence needs a little adjustment to make it flow better. Might just be me, but it stopped my eyes and mind and I had to read it over a few time to get it.

Lovely piece overall, keep writing.

I would have to agree with everyone about how difficult what I wrote is hard to read. I definately need to break it up. Also, the line about the trees has bothered me. I really like it, but it is very awkward.

Thank you everyone for your feedback.

nerot

I did a re-write of this little story today to see if it is easier to read and made the changes that were suggested.

nerot - Your story captures perfectly a type of person often seen in the cities and towns of Central America. The colloquial name for them is 'sprong-head', meaning crack-head, crack addict. Those who facilitate the transit of drugs being sent north to attempt to satisfy the desperate narcotic hunger of the U.S. are often paid in kind and not in cash. This practise ensures a ready supply of cheap drugs in our streets. The most common cause of death among young men is 'drug deal gone bad'.

Your description of his walk as 'a series of broken falls' is especially accurate.

While drug addiction is not the only reason a person becomes one of 'God's orphans', such addiction has become common in many parts of the world.

Your image of the evergreen trees in the sidewalk, however, is not clear for me. The post by egpenny echoes my thoughts.

The first thing that catches my eye is the beautiful descriptions, it conveys the chillyness of a winter day straight into me. You capture emotion and mood very well.

I fleshed out the "evergreen trees" part to see if it works better.

Thank you to all for your comments.

Excellent bit of editing. That completes the picture.

You paint a very keen picture of your character, you ought to continue the story!

Edited version is easily understood. Good work on clarifying the trees.