Other kids would go to school and I would look over the fence when passing, a pang seething deep inside of me. But it wasn’t the learning that I was jealous of, the chances they would get. What I was learning would eventually make me very rich indeed.
No, what I was jealous of was their playtime. I was begging as a baby, picking pockets by six, ever on up the crime ladder I went; and always on the clock.
Yet they had time to do something that led to nothing, that brought only sheer joy. And I hated that.
No, what I was jealous of was their playtime. I was begging as a baby, picking pockets by six, ever on up the crime ladder I went; and always on the clock.
Yet they had time to do something that led to nothing, that brought only sheer joy. And I hated that.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart
Dear James,
ReplyDeleteA very sad story well told. This child doesn't have much of a future.
Shalom,
Rochelle
A modern day Oliver Twist. Money can't buy happiness.
ReplyDeleteRosey Pinkerton's blog
Interesting take on the prompt. Describes the feelings of the character very well. Lost childhood.
ReplyDeleteAwww, I feel so sad for the child.
ReplyDeleteYou have portrayed the envy of the beggar child so well but it is envy for something that every child should be entitled to - a bit of playtime. That makes it such a sad piece. Really well done.
ReplyDeleteThat poor kid. A good take on the prompt.
ReplyDeleteWell done story. Truly felt his pain.
ReplyDeleteI love the way you brought out his pain, his envy, his hopelessness, his despair in so few words. Unfortunately, there are far too many kids living this way.
ReplyDeleteThanks for all your kind comments :)
ReplyDelete