A dirty mattress with rusted coils poking through sits propped up like a couch in one corner of the small shack, and a stack of old paperbacks sits in the other. A candle and some matches from a local bar are on top. There is no door, only a blue tarp to block out the wind. And some of the wooden planks of the walls are loose, letting in light between the cracks.
Patty used to squat here, but last week they found her behind Walmart with a needle sticking straight outta her arm. Dead so long she had rigamortis. I’m sorry she’s gone. Patty was a good person with a shit habit. Me too, I guess.
It has been a long road, but now I get methadone at the clinic once a day. I stand in line and get a dose just big enough to keep me from getting sick.
Today I was at my regular spot, asking for change, and each car that drove by just looked right through me. It was like I didn’t exist. I get it, though. We’ve all been approached by someone asking for change. People become numb. I used to be numb, too.
But people out here do exist. We have flesh and blood and souls. Some of us have just run out of luck, and some, like me, have made a couple mistakes along the way.
I sigh and watch a cloud of crystals form in front of my eyes. The chill in my chest is hard to erase in the winter, but I’ll get through.
Other than the mattress and my books, there isn’t room for much else, but at least I’ve got a roof during the colder months this year.
I hear a rustle at my tarp just as the sun begins to dip.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s Jan. Mind if I come in?”
“Not much room, but come in,” I say. “I can share the mattress, but leave your drugs outside.” It doesn’t pay to be stingy on the streets. Or anywhere, I guess.
Jan pulls back the tarp, letting in a breeze that bites. The extra weight on her bones makes it hard for her to breathe, and every time she exhales I get a whiff of cigarette smoke and teeth that need a good brushing.
“I found this book on the street today,” she says, tossing a tattered paperback into my lap. “You read, don’t cha?”
“I do. Thank you, Jan,” I say, carefully moving the candle and matches. I add it to the stack with my others, then light the candle for extra light.
“You’re welcome, dear,” she coughs, and nearly brings up a lung. “Thanks for lettin’ me sit with ya” she says. “Most folks don’t want me ‘round cause ‘a my size and all.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” I say, giving her room on the mattress.
“A kind lady bought me a sandwich today,” she holds up the sub wrapped in white paper with green and yellow letters. “Care to share? For your troubles.”
I feel my stomach grumble painfully in response to the mention of food.
“That would be nice,” I say, taking half her sandwich.
Photo courtesy of Gratisography
Danielle Dayney 
Beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Jared!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your characters are grounded in a solid setting, I didn’t need the moral at the end; you demonstrated that idea with the interaction between the two characters.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, Nate. You think it would read better without it there?
LikeLike
That depends. Do you want this to feel like a fable? If so, consider inserting other characteristics of the genre to make that clear. If not, it literally tells the reader how to interpret your story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Got it. Thank you, Nate. I’m trying to get more experience with fiction and I really appreciate all the comments. You are always so helpful
LikeLike
Loved your descriptions of the setting and characters. The dialect was trickier – I definitely thought it added something, but it was a little inconsistent at points. I really enjoyed the snapshot feel of the piece, though.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Amy! That’s why I’m here – to learn, right? I appreciate all these awesome comments, because I’m still relatively new to fiction longer than a hundred words. Would you mind pointing out a few places in a private message so I can see what dialect issues you mean? Thanks again 🙂
LikeLike
The description of your setting and characters, down to their accents is so vivid! I especially loved the line “She coughs and nearly brings up a lung.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Hema! That’s one of my favorite lines, too. I’m glad the characters are so vivid to you! I think I might be starting to like fiction more 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
I liked how you juxtaposed the callousness of the outside world with the cooperation between the two main characters. That imagery is powerful enough that you could end the story with the action rather than the explanation. Also, great descriptions of your people and place!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Annmarie 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely piece, Danielle! I like the little changes you made too. Very vivid portrayal of the homeless. Well done. ☺
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aww thank you, Melony! I hope I did my characters justice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Gorgeous and heartfelt. It really lifted my mood today. I enjoyed your voice, specially the line Patty used to squat here, but last week they found her behind Walmart with a needle sticking straight outta her arm and of course – coughing and nearly bringing up a lung.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Those are two of my favorites, as well.
LikeLike
Great description of the shack, and of Jan–just the right amount of detail. To me, the narrator’s voice/personality shines through.
LikeLike
Both characters come through really well, with their distinct voices and reactions to books/reading. The narrator seems very intelligent and well-spoken, which made the paragraph with “ragomortis” and “outta” feel a little inconsistent, but his/her attitude towards recovering and getting through the winter made him/her very relatable. The details of the shack and Jan with her sandwich showed real community and care between the two.
LikeLike