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tamingthemuse2006-07-11 06:14 pm
dedra.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2006-07-11 06:14 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt 1 - pickpocket - Too Much Prejudice - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer -
Title: Too Much Prejudice
Fandom: OC
Prompt: Pickpocket
Warnings: none
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: We do what we must to survive.
Too Much Prejudice
The subway was crowded and noisy as ever on the hottest night of this New York summer. Odors drifted from every body that stood in my car and assaulted my nose with the effluvia of mankind’s stench in a hundred different languages and ethnicity, but I was too busy smelling my own perspiration and listening to the lion’s roar of my stomach over the screeching brakes to pay attention to anyone else.
I can’t go home empty handed again and face their eyes. They depend on me for food, home, and love—depend on me so much for so long. I want to scream with the frustration of another barren day of fruitless searching. I don’t scream. There is no point in it. In the heart of the city, nobody cares.
Someone nudges me in the back with a misplaced elbow and I bump into a man in a silky soft suit. His briefcase hits my stomach, empty of food but full of life, and I wonder if he will excuse his lack of control over his accessories. His eyes slide over me in the manner of the rich, disaffected yuppie and I want to scream again, this time at a real person for not seeing me. I am not trash. I am not the garbage that lines the stinking streets, nor am I one of the unfortunates without a place to lay my head. Down on my luck, yes, but without worth? No. Never without worth.
To him, however, I am worthless. Dressed in sweatpants and a cotton tee shirt, carrying a purse made of old blue jeans well washed and loved, I am nothing to him. Another piece of detritus washed ashore in the anonymity of the city and not worth a second thought.
Another stop and the car fills to overflowing. We are crushed together in the small space like olives in a jar, faces pressed against the glass begging for a chance to get out in one piece. My cheek brushes against the soft fabric of the suit next to me and I wonder what his life is like. Does someone love him enough to give up everything to be with him? Does he have enough food to fill up the empty spaces inside, enough love to fill an empty heart?
Somehow I doubt it. He doesn’t have enough love to see past the outer cover of the book to the inner wisdom of the words on the page. He seems superficial and shallow with his designer suit and fancy briefcase that he uses as a shield to protect him from the chaff.
Another bump, another quick jar, and I am pressed against his front when he turned in irritation. His chest is hard muscle under the calluses on my palm and I try to make a noise in my throat as an excuse. The only noise that I’m able to choke out is the whoosh of my breath as it leaves my lungs in a hurry with the press of humanity against my back.
He looks down at me and I feel like the lowest of invertebrates crawling before him. I am the dog shit that he wipes off his shoe with a disposable napkin. I am the ants he treads on as he walks across the grasses of his ancestral home. I am nothing in his sight and he lets me know with the wrinkle of his nose and the line that appears between his brows. My touch impugns his senses and offends his sensibilities and inside I cringe. Outwardly, I smile.
Something brushes against the back of my hand as it rests against his chest, bracing my upper body away from him so I can breath again. Soft, supple, it calls to my fingers with its siren song and begs for my attention, serenades me with the possibilities that lay beneath. Without thought, as the crowd jostles us once again, I slip it out of his pocket silently and drop it into the black depths of my jean bag and out of sight. I will look at my prize later in privacy; now I must suffer his presence as well.
A few miles, minutes, lifetimes later, my stop is here. My gut burns with hunger and guilt as I realize I have just treated another human being with the contempt that I so abhor, but I have to do something. I cannot feed my children with love and I cannot find a job with will alone. I have to take the steps that I must to provide what I can.
I can feel his eyes as they stare holes in my back as the doors close behind me. The sightless worm continues on its way as I step to a corner for some privacy, taking the wallet out of my purse to open it up and peruse the contents.
There are no pictures of loved ones, old or young. There is a credit card, a few receipts, and inside the flap, a dozen or more hundred dollar bills.
I toss the seductive leather folder to the ground and shove the money deep in the bottom of my purse, holding the bag secure across my body to keep it safe. Tonight, my children will eat, my landlady will be happy, and the electricity will stay on. Tonight, I can walk into my small walkup with pride instead of slumped shoulders; although it was ill-gotten gains, it was more than we had yesterday. If I’m frugal, I can make it last until my ship does come in. I must. They depend on me.
Fandom: OC
Prompt: Pickpocket
Warnings: none
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: We do what we must to survive.
Too Much Prejudice
The subway was crowded and noisy as ever on the hottest night of this New York summer. Odors drifted from every body that stood in my car and assaulted my nose with the effluvia of mankind’s stench in a hundred different languages and ethnicity, but I was too busy smelling my own perspiration and listening to the lion’s roar of my stomach over the screeching brakes to pay attention to anyone else.
I can’t go home empty handed again and face their eyes. They depend on me for food, home, and love—depend on me so much for so long. I want to scream with the frustration of another barren day of fruitless searching. I don’t scream. There is no point in it. In the heart of the city, nobody cares.
Someone nudges me in the back with a misplaced elbow and I bump into a man in a silky soft suit. His briefcase hits my stomach, empty of food but full of life, and I wonder if he will excuse his lack of control over his accessories. His eyes slide over me in the manner of the rich, disaffected yuppie and I want to scream again, this time at a real person for not seeing me. I am not trash. I am not the garbage that lines the stinking streets, nor am I one of the unfortunates without a place to lay my head. Down on my luck, yes, but without worth? No. Never without worth.
To him, however, I am worthless. Dressed in sweatpants and a cotton tee shirt, carrying a purse made of old blue jeans well washed and loved, I am nothing to him. Another piece of detritus washed ashore in the anonymity of the city and not worth a second thought.
Another stop and the car fills to overflowing. We are crushed together in the small space like olives in a jar, faces pressed against the glass begging for a chance to get out in one piece. My cheek brushes against the soft fabric of the suit next to me and I wonder what his life is like. Does someone love him enough to give up everything to be with him? Does he have enough food to fill up the empty spaces inside, enough love to fill an empty heart?
Somehow I doubt it. He doesn’t have enough love to see past the outer cover of the book to the inner wisdom of the words on the page. He seems superficial and shallow with his designer suit and fancy briefcase that he uses as a shield to protect him from the chaff.
Another bump, another quick jar, and I am pressed against his front when he turned in irritation. His chest is hard muscle under the calluses on my palm and I try to make a noise in my throat as an excuse. The only noise that I’m able to choke out is the whoosh of my breath as it leaves my lungs in a hurry with the press of humanity against my back.
He looks down at me and I feel like the lowest of invertebrates crawling before him. I am the dog shit that he wipes off his shoe with a disposable napkin. I am the ants he treads on as he walks across the grasses of his ancestral home. I am nothing in his sight and he lets me know with the wrinkle of his nose and the line that appears between his brows. My touch impugns his senses and offends his sensibilities and inside I cringe. Outwardly, I smile.
Something brushes against the back of my hand as it rests against his chest, bracing my upper body away from him so I can breath again. Soft, supple, it calls to my fingers with its siren song and begs for my attention, serenades me with the possibilities that lay beneath. Without thought, as the crowd jostles us once again, I slip it out of his pocket silently and drop it into the black depths of my jean bag and out of sight. I will look at my prize later in privacy; now I must suffer his presence as well.
A few miles, minutes, lifetimes later, my stop is here. My gut burns with hunger and guilt as I realize I have just treated another human being with the contempt that I so abhor, but I have to do something. I cannot feed my children with love and I cannot find a job with will alone. I have to take the steps that I must to provide what I can.
I can feel his eyes as they stare holes in my back as the doors close behind me. The sightless worm continues on its way as I step to a corner for some privacy, taking the wallet out of my purse to open it up and peruse the contents.
There are no pictures of loved ones, old or young. There is a credit card, a few receipts, and inside the flap, a dozen or more hundred dollar bills.
I toss the seductive leather folder to the ground and shove the money deep in the bottom of my purse, holding the bag secure across my body to keep it safe. Tonight, my children will eat, my landlady will be happy, and the electricity will stay on. Tonight, I can walk into my small walkup with pride instead of slumped shoulders; although it was ill-gotten gains, it was more than we had yesterday. If I’m frugal, I can make it last until my ship does come in. I must. They depend on me.
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~Nebula
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*hugs*
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One thing, though;
'I am the ants he trods on as he walks across the grasses of his ancestral home.'
Should say treads, not trods.
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and thanks too--will edit it posthaste...
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The language is so incredibly rich, and I'm aching for a woman whose name I don't even know. I really love how the wallet had nothing it in but money and the remains of money... no love. It almost makes me feel bad for him (almost). Man, I'm just... speechless.
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*blushes*
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Many thanks.
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So much characterization, she has a great vocabulary. If only my own thoughts were as well worded!
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This, in particular, moved me: I cannot feed my children with love and I cannot find a job with will alone. It is a peril so many of us face on a daily basis, and to see it so beautifully, tragically laid out in a single sentence is to be satisfied with every one of the surrounding words.
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Sadly, I've been in those shoes (the ones of my character), although not in those exact dire straits or needs exactly...I've been on the dole and remember how people look at you and the contempt in their faces when you use food stamps to buy food for your children...and it stays with you...
There is so much ugliness in the world today...thank you for recognizing it and realizing that there can be beauty in it as well...
*hugs*