Status: Hiatus - currently writing chapters for other stories aswell
Dark Doves
The Hitchhiker
I can’t remember how long it’s been now; it’s so hard to keep track of the time. All I have to go by is the changing seasons and odd newspapers that I find lying in the street.
Last time I managed to find an abandoned paper was over a week ago now, but the date I remembered clearly, like it had been imprinted upon my brain.
Sunday August 2nd 2009.
The bold print had stared up at me angrily; reminding me that another month, another year had passed as I wasted my time hiding from them on the streets of some godforsaken town that I had no clue of the name of.
At the moment I was hitchhiking my way to the big apple with a surprisingly friendly truck driver, he said his name was Donny, I think.
In a way he reminded me of the farther I never knew; kind and inviting honey coloured orbs paired with a delightfully contagious smile that raised my spirits despite my tricky predicament.
We’d been in his truck for a good three hours and he had my complete attention as he told me tale after tale of his stunning wife, Andrea, and his seven year old son, Sam.
To me they sounded like the perfect family, I wished so hard that I could have just a fraction of what they have and to just be normal for once.
“… and she was so mad but she couldn’t stay angry at Sammy for more than five minutes. I tell you, that kids got her wrapped around his finger.”
Finishing off his tale with a hearty chuckle, Donny threw a quick glance my way before returning his eyes to the long stretch of road ahead of us.
“Kid, I know you don’t talk much I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed your company on my trip. It’s hard to believe someone as nice as you could be living out on the streets.”
I gazed at him in curiosity, why was he being so nice to me?
For the last two years I had grown accustom to being called a variety of harsh, unfriendly names. I had known living on the streets would be tough but, I had no other choice and I guess being treated like a human being for a change was a bit of a shock to the system.
I pulled the old cinnamon coloured blanket he had lent me tighter around my malnourished frame.
Maybe if there were more people like Donny in the world I wouldn’t be in the dilemma I was.
I wouldn’t be treated like a freak
Like the dirt on the bottom of the governments shoe.
Like a disease that needed to be eradicated.
After all, it’s not my fault I’m a mutant.
Last time I managed to find an abandoned paper was over a week ago now, but the date I remembered clearly, like it had been imprinted upon my brain.
Sunday August 2nd 2009.
The bold print had stared up at me angrily; reminding me that another month, another year had passed as I wasted my time hiding from them on the streets of some godforsaken town that I had no clue of the name of.
At the moment I was hitchhiking my way to the big apple with a surprisingly friendly truck driver, he said his name was Donny, I think.
In a way he reminded me of the farther I never knew; kind and inviting honey coloured orbs paired with a delightfully contagious smile that raised my spirits despite my tricky predicament.
We’d been in his truck for a good three hours and he had my complete attention as he told me tale after tale of his stunning wife, Andrea, and his seven year old son, Sam.
To me they sounded like the perfect family, I wished so hard that I could have just a fraction of what they have and to just be normal for once.
“… and she was so mad but she couldn’t stay angry at Sammy for more than five minutes. I tell you, that kids got her wrapped around his finger.”
Finishing off his tale with a hearty chuckle, Donny threw a quick glance my way before returning his eyes to the long stretch of road ahead of us.
“Kid, I know you don’t talk much I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed your company on my trip. It’s hard to believe someone as nice as you could be living out on the streets.”
I gazed at him in curiosity, why was he being so nice to me?
For the last two years I had grown accustom to being called a variety of harsh, unfriendly names. I had known living on the streets would be tough but, I had no other choice and I guess being treated like a human being for a change was a bit of a shock to the system.
I pulled the old cinnamon coloured blanket he had lent me tighter around my malnourished frame.
Maybe if there were more people like Donny in the world I wouldn’t be in the dilemma I was.
I wouldn’t be treated like a freak
Like the dirt on the bottom of the governments shoe.
Like a disease that needed to be eradicated.
After all, it’s not my fault I’m a mutant.
♠ ♠ ♠
Short, I know but I had to get something out. I'm really looking forward to writing this after taking my other stories down, so leave a comment and tell me what you think.Should I continue?