|A Lonely Way
Author: Abracadabra41 PM
A hunched figure stood slumped against the alley wall. It was raining, so the figure's collar was straightened, shielding the face, as was the long, dark hair. The street light flickered to life, revealing more about the figure, who had formerly been nothing more than a silhouette... story about living on the streets of NYC. Please R&R!Rated: Fiction T - English - Suspense/Mystery - Chapters: 8 - Words: 3,506 - Reviews: 1 - Updated: 02-13-13 - Published: 01-29-13 - id: 3096537
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Lonely Way
Cory had managed to elude the cops for over a week. He knew his foster parents must have called them after they discovered him missing. He was sick, hungry, dirty, and tired. But living out on the streets could do that to you. He had been eating whatever he could find in the garbage that was somewhat edible and sleeping wherever he could.
However, Cory was not discouraged. He was making progress towards New York, the band's hometown. He figured another week would land him in the city and then it would be down to just locating his father. Not that that would be any easier.
Stomach both growling and aching in rebellion from his recent diet, Cory stopped and looked to see if anyone was around. He had stumbled upon a neighborhood where it was trash night - his lucky day. Cory began digging in the nearest can, but found nothing. He continued down the street checking but found nothing he could even stomach the smell of. And that's when he saw her.
A few houses down, he saw a familiar shape jutting out from the garbage. Cory dropped the moldy sandwich that he had found and ran, wanting to be sure what he was seeing was for real; it was.
There, lodged in a can surrounded by empty beer bottles, was a white guitar. Cory gently laid down the can and pulled the guitar out, not caring how much noise the clanking bottles made, only that he got it out safely as possible.
Forgetting everything else, Cory sat down on the sidewalk and looked it over.
There seemed to be nothing wrong with the guitar, besides the fact that two strings were broken and that it was very dirty. The sides of the garbage can seemed to have scuffed the paint, but it was so minor that it was hardly noticeable. He strummed the strings gently, wincing at how out of tune they were. Thankfully, there hadn't been any bad weather recently, or the guitar would've been in much worse shape. Who knows how long it had been outside.
Suddenly, Cory was startled by the door to the house opening. He didn't stick around to visit, quickly getting to his feet, tucking the guitar under his arm, and taking off. The sound of breaking glass behind him told Cory that he had gotten out just in time. He could hear a man cursing him and correctly assumed that it was the sound of beer bottles shattering at the spot where he had just been sitting.