another creative writing asignment (had to write a story using certain objects that i was told to use)

Never
Scared

By Tyler Ingram

“Thief!!! STOP,
THEIF!!” the man yelled as I ran out the door of the convenience store with his
rich Indian accent. I wasn’t going to stop for him, why would I? I had to look
out for myself, no one else would. I was alone, and I liked it. Doing this gave
me the most joy in life, and it always got my heart racing.

“HA!!! Like hell I
will, Apu!! Thank you, come again!” I
yelled over my shoulder mocking his Indian accent.

I quickly ran
across the busy street as I heard people yelling and tires screeching,
eventually I made it across the street and continued running for a while. I
couldn’t hear the Indian’s voice any longer but I continued to run just to make
sure. I finally arrived at 42^nd
Street; I had run down Park
Avenue from 84^th
Street in about what seemed like 10 minutes
perhaps. I began to walk towards PS 113, which was the high school that I
‘attended’. I went mainly because they didn’t like me there and kicked me out
almost every time I showed up. As I walked up the steps of the school I removed
the mask from my face and began eating a honey bun that I stole earlier.

“Well, well, well…
Look who it is, it’s the ‘Bum of Manhattan’” I heard a voice behind me. I turned
around to see it was Mr. Slim. His name was quite an oxymoron since he was no where
near what one would call “slim”. He was twirling his finger in his mustache’s
curl. The man reminded me of Taft, but more of an ass.

“Oh, how you doing
today, Mr. Fat-ass? Sorry, I meant ‘Slim’. HA!”

“Ok, Doug, I feel
like I’m quite patient today, so I’ll let you in my school as long as you don’t
misbeha—wait…this is you we’re talking about…I’ll send someone for ya in about
15 minutes, you little punk.”

“Catch me if you
can, tubby.” I looked up at the clock that was above the school doors and
noticed that classes were about to be released. I turned my head back to Mr.
Slim and grinned.

“Tah-tah!” I said
and went through the door. He followed and opened the door to find the halls
packed with kids and me no where to be seen. . I used the crowd of kids as a
veil to make my escape to an old janitor’s closet. I was so used to trying to
shake him off my tail that I could do it at almost any second. I suppose the
opportunities for me to escape were always lucky. That’s what I was, lucky, and
I always believed in my luck. I could get away from any bad situation without
being caught, especially stealing. That’s how I got out of the asylum when I
was younger, I stole my way out. They had put me in there because they called
me “a sociopath with little connection to reality along with a fixation on
ecliptic actions”. I didn’t care, nor do I care now.

Mr. Slim had sent
his two cronies from the gym after me all the time, they were really dumb, and
so I was able to slip away. After his men would call it quits for the day and
leave I would exit the closet and roam the halls. Since my escape of the asylum
I stayed at the school, during the night I would read some of the text books to
pass time. After I ‘find’ my meals I always come back here, but I always make
sure that I’m back before the school lets out.

For a while, life
was good. I had a place to sleep, no rules, no one to answer to. I was free. I
couldn’t live there after I turned 19, though, because I grew too tall and
stood out among the high school students.

For a while after
I moved out of the high school, I started to stay in a homeless shelter for
about a year. It sucked, every night I would be yelled at for trying to smoke
cigarettes that I “found”. The people who worked there told me that I should
start looking for work. Eventually I started working for some contractor as a
repair man. I would go into peoples houses and repair whatever it was that was
broken, but really I was looking for something. A few months went by, I had
moved out of the shelter and bought a small crappy one bedroom apartment.

The place was a
dump, there was nothing to do and there were cracks in the wall. The wall that
connected my room to my neighbor’s had a crack that you could look through. The
walls were a dark shade of tan, and had one light bulb sticking out of the
ceiling. The window was small and was a few feet above my mattress, and outside
the window was hotel sign that shined brightly throughout the night.

One night I was
asleep when suddenly I was awoken by noises from the other side of the cracked
wall. I couldn’t take it anymore, I could barely sleep. At this point in time I
hated everything, I was bored, and it was a long time since I had done anything
that pleased me. I started to hear shouting. The man was begging for his life,
that’s what it sounded like at least. Then I heard a gun shot.

I looked through a
crack to see that the man was Mr. Slim! I knew the guy could be an ass, but
what was that about? I thought to myself that since he is here that I could follow
him home and have some fun with him. I came out of my room and followed him; he
never knew I was there. I followed him for what seemed like two whole hours, we
had left Manhattan
and were in a hillside neighborhood. We arrived at a large mansion with great
white marble pillars in the front and tall, black gates surrounding the whole
house. Mr. Slim didn’t go in, but waited out side. Several men came out and the
men began talking, I couldn’t hear due to the distance I kept. I didn’t want to
hope the fence just yet, so I climbed a tree and sat down on a branch waiting
for something to happen.

About 30 minutes
went by and nothing happened, the men still stood there waiting for something
as well. I yawned and stretched a little. I just wanted them to leave so that I
could sneak in. Suddenly, I began to hear a cracking noise coming from behind
me, and I knew exactly what it was; the branch was breaking. I tried to jump to
another branch but it was too late. I fell with the branch making a large
thudding sound. This attracted two of the men. They grabbed me by the arms and
brought me to Mr. Slim.

“Well, Well, Well…
if it isn’t Doug the Bum of Manhattan,” Mr. Slim said pleased with delight.

“What’s up, Mr.
Fat-ass?” as I said it one of the men holding hit me in the gut…hard.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST
CALL THE BOSS, YOU LIL’ TWERP?” goon number one screamed in my face

“We’ll teach ya
some manners on how to address your superiors!” goon number two said as they
both began to punch me in the gut one after another. When I started to spit up
blood, Mr. Slim motioned for the men to stop.

“Well, you don’t
seem to be such a lucky little punk, now do you, Doug?”

I just hung there,
wheezing and drooling blood. It hurt. I couldn’t remember the last time I was
in such pain. Usually I would be able to say something that would piss a guy
off enough that either someone came to defend me cause I would look helpless or
I would steel something for them to not hurt me.

“Well, you punk?
Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry, Slim, I
was in my own world there for a moment,” I managed to mutter with a bit of
sarcasm.

“Well, I asked you
‘why were you following me’…care to elaborate?”

“I got my
reasons,” I said with a cocky attitude.

“I’ve had enough
with you,” he said, “Do it.” He motioned the goons to do something but the next
thing I knew I blacked out. The instant he said that line, I knew that I was
going to die. But hey, no matter where I go, I can always have fun, can’t I?