Friday, June 02, 2006
Christmas Eve
Short Short Story
By Jo Smith
Today it is Christmas Eve. It was cold out and cloudy.
The street is deserted except for a form hunched over at the curb, a tramp.
A tramp, cold and hungry and he want only one thing.
To get arrested.
In Jail I will have a bed and food.
It will be warm and the boys will be there to talk to.
I tried everything I can think of to get arrested.
I knocked that old woman down.
I took an apple at the fruit stand.
Even broke out that store window.
But the police either felt merciful
or refused to believe I was guilty.
Never has anyone tried so hard to be arrested
and fail so completely.
The tramp sat dejected, his head hung low
between his dirty, wrinkled hands as they dangled
between his bent knees.
His fingers were gnarled and stiff.
Blood was dried on them where the glass from the windows he broke
had cut little slits.
Raising his head, his weary yellowed eyes glanced down at his hands.
“My blood’s getting out," he said to no one.
It seemed like such an easy plan.
Just get arrested,
but nothing was working.
Before, eevery thing I had did worked.
I have been arrested 46 times since I was 10 years old.
A smile slid across his thin chapped lips.
Not many had a record like that.
"Naw Sir.”
He cocked his head a little with pride.
It's getting late now.
He had lived a long time. He didn't feel so good anymore.
His bones hurt.
His stomach growled loudly.
He stretched his legs in front of him, straight out from the curb.
His knees popped and cracked.
The concrete was hard and cold.
He got to his feet in time to catch sight of a very young boy,
running from something,
he could tell by the boys face.
He watched him come closer.
The boy was breathing hard.
Hard like when you’re scared and things are out of control.
Stepping across the sidewalk the tramp reached out
and grabbed the boy's shirt sleeve.
The boy swung around hard as he lost his forward motion.
The shirt tore with a ripping sound.
Now the tramp didn’t know it but
by this brief contact with the boy,
his problems were solved.
The boy shot him dead.
By Jo Smith
Today it is Christmas Eve. It was cold out and cloudy.
The street is deserted except for a form hunched over at the curb, a tramp.
A tramp, cold and hungry and he want only one thing.
To get arrested.
In Jail I will have a bed and food.
It will be warm and the boys will be there to talk to.
I tried everything I can think of to get arrested.
I knocked that old woman down.
I took an apple at the fruit stand.
Even broke out that store window.
But the police either felt merciful
or refused to believe I was guilty.
Never has anyone tried so hard to be arrested
and fail so completely.
The tramp sat dejected, his head hung low
between his dirty, wrinkled hands as they dangled
between his bent knees.
His fingers were gnarled and stiff.
Blood was dried on them where the glass from the windows he broke
had cut little slits.
Raising his head, his weary yellowed eyes glanced down at his hands.
“My blood’s getting out," he said to no one.
It seemed like such an easy plan.
Just get arrested,
but nothing was working.
Before, eevery thing I had did worked.
I have been arrested 46 times since I was 10 years old.
A smile slid across his thin chapped lips.
Not many had a record like that.
"Naw Sir.”
He cocked his head a little with pride.
It's getting late now.
He had lived a long time. He didn't feel so good anymore.
His bones hurt.
His stomach growled loudly.
He stretched his legs in front of him, straight out from the curb.
His knees popped and cracked.
The concrete was hard and cold.
He got to his feet in time to catch sight of a very young boy,
running from something,
he could tell by the boys face.
He watched him come closer.
The boy was breathing hard.
Hard like when you’re scared and things are out of control.
Stepping across the sidewalk the tramp reached out
and grabbed the boy's shirt sleeve.
The boy swung around hard as he lost his forward motion.
The shirt tore with a ripping sound.
Now the tramp didn’t know it but
by this brief contact with the boy,
his problems were solved.
The boy shot him dead.
