Saturday, February 4, 2012

6 Degrees of Separation

6 Degrees of Separation
Story by Robert L. Tuck, Jr.
Written by Jennifer A. Lightburn

(Rough Draft) Prologue

It was a good day to die; the homeless man thought, precariously zigzagging through rush hour traffic.  As if ripe off (E&J) Erk and Jerk, he jigged, smiled and waved at the drivers ridden with road-rage and shouting vulgarities.  He ignored the snide remarks of pedestrians and drivers until one man shouted, “Get out of the street you worthless bum.”  The impoverished man stopped smiling, as he thought about the children’s rhyme, “Sticks and stones,” and his face became sullen as he bent down to grab a rock.  He held the rock in both of his dirty hands, brought it to his lips, kissed it, then isolated his lower body to form proper arm position.  He winded-up his arm and threw the rock as hard as he could.
           Upon being hit in the face, the Indian taxi driver covered his eye and was about to retaliate with more insults but saw that the man picked up another, so the taxi driver sat back in his car and rolled up his window. 
The homeless man continued walking.  The screeching of tires and honking of horns was of no consequence, nor were the wailing sirens or helicopter hovering overhead.  He crossed 14th Street, even though, the signal flashed DON’T WALK.  Seconds later he was under the bumper of a Ford Escape.  Using his winter coat, he wiped away the blood that drizzled down his face to his crusty lips.  He then removed his coat, throwing it onto the street.  He felt the heat from the blazing hot summer day, for the first time since he could remember.  Grabbing the bumper, he pulled himself off the street, and he laughed hysterically when he saw the woman in the car, for he recognized her from earlier that day. 
“You good for nothing mother fucker,” she shouted.  “You’re going to pay my five hundred dollar deductable.” 
“Am I?” he said before walking away.  He could hear the woman bark angry words; though, he’d walked a hundred feet to the 14th Street Bridge.  He removed his clothes revealing his naked body and flexing his arm muscles to show off his tattoos then he climbed on the white rail and walked along the rail as if it was a tightrope.  The distance from the rail to the Potomac River wasn’t widespread, but he knew that whatever trash that lied within the murky water would surely kill him. 
The beaming ray of light from the helicopter granted enough luminosity for his final act. 
Policemen held back the throng of people who were riveted by the foolishness of the middle-aged man.  
One officer carefully walked to the bridge with his hands in the air.
“You don’t have to do this,” the officer said.  “I can help.”
The bum turned around, and when their eyes met, he smiled.  He recognized the cop.  He looked into the crowd of people and at the camera man who had followed him, and he noticed a look of curiosity instead of concern.
“You can help me?” he said in a soft sarcastic voice.  “No, I don’t think you can.  Besides, today is a good day to die.” 
The homeless man raised his arms and leaned back, letting gravity take his body.

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