I look around and all I see is dirt. Dirt, dirt, dirt, and more dirt covered in sugar. The sugary dirt is what the rich eat and everyone else just eats plain dirt. Ain’t it funny? We try to be rich to eat better-looking dirt, but all it does is rot our teeth in addition to making our insides filthy. What should I know, though? I’m just a dirty bum – an outcast to society. I shouldn’t say anything about being dirty: everyone eats and picks from my bones.

He walked down the wet sidewalk, head bowed and hands in his ragged hoodie. He breathed slowly, his frigid breath expelled from him, the principle aspect of his person was his limp. No one noticed, though, just walking past him as the rain began to fall again, intent on re-educating the Earth in scholarly purity.

Even though all the passersby rejected the rain, the man embraced it without choice. He didn’t know how the rain washed Hell from him and the umbrellas were the cloak and guard that guaranteed it to the heartless people who didn’t care.

Yeah, this is the way it is: I walk in the rain on an empty stomach like Heaven and God is mocking me for being walking dirt. Every time that happened, I would remember the experiences of the people to me…

Excuse me, ma’am, I need money. Could you…?”

Piss off, you dirty bum. I don’t even carry cash on me.”

Excuse me, spare some change?”

Ugh… here. Tch…! Probably spend it on booze or something…”

Hi, sir, I’d like to apply for a job here…”


But! I can be a hard worker, I-I know I can be on time every single day! Please… Please! I need money to eat, I-”

Sorry. No.”

He stopped under a bridge, standing near the bank of a dirty river. He stood over it and saw his murky, muddy reflection staring back at him, hungry and cold. His shivering hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. The tool smiled at him and urged him on with a promise of peace it really couldn’t offer.

I used to wonder a lot what happened after you die. It can’t be worse than this because this is Hell; going day by day, knowing no one cares about you or gives a damn if you die. They wouldn’t care if you passed out on the sidewalk, if you were kicked in public, or spat on even. They would understand why restaurants owners wouldn’t want you in their establishments, why they wouldn’t hire you, or even give you money. A world like that – this world – is too cruel… I can’t… Not anymore…

The man, hand trembling from the cold within, raised the gun to his head, putting the barrel to his temple.

I’m sorry…” he whispered.


The sound echoed through the earth as the man’s body fell forth, limp.


It floated off into the river of dirt, muddy and filthy, and washed out by the rain.

Original Image

The X Store (My Bookstore [New eBook Coming Soon])


2 thoughts on “For My Survival

  1. Damn, great story, had a great feel to it from the get go, a grittiness.
    The hobo’s emotions and world view, countered with the reality in dialogue, painted a bleak picture and I never expected the ending in a way, thinking someone would stop it, which of course made it all the sadder, more poignant, that when you’re on the bottom of the heap nobody gives a shit.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, my friend. Yeah, it’s so sad but it’s the truth and the truth hurts, sadly. We gotta care for the unfortunate because we could just as easily end up like them. Thanks for stopping by. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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