descriptive story "Beggar"
Beggar
The only life that had been in Marks flat was growing out of his mugs. The smell of foul mustard and loneliness filled the air of the forbidding suite; with it’s unpainted floor and its small, square windows. To the left of the front door hung a gloomy painting of a crying clown, which was as sad as the sunless sea. Mark left his grim flat, leaving the leaden bed that was as lonely as a whale in the vast ocean. He was slugging through the swarming crowd, as the lights glanced and the seagulls laughed. Mark fell into his dusty car and started the engine, it coughed then started to roll along. The traffic inflamed his temper but he finally arrived at work.
As Mark entered the office people passed him but would pretend he wasn’t there, he would stare at the ground as he slumbered through the bare hallways. Finally his frail frame sat down on his plain chair, at his plain desk, and turned on his plain computer.
As the hard rain tapped at the window mark grasped the bent and damp picture of his little family, which was on his otherwise empty wall, it was the only one he had of the hateful people ever since they ditched him as soon as he turned eighteen. Suddenly the door to the hallway flung open… Mark listened carefully as he heard powerful footsteps march towards him.
“Oh Mark, why do you keep that litter on your wall. It’s not like they ever cared about you.” Sam said as his eyes locked on Mark but he just kept looking at the picture. Sam was younger, good looking- the complete opposite of Mark-and he was the bosses son so he could do whatever he wanted and Mark hated him for that. “I mean, I would say stick some photos of you and your friends you don’t have any friends, or anyone really. Just some lonely man staring at a picture of his stupid ‘family’ and wondering whether they think about you at all, when in reality they probable wish you never existed.” Mark heard every wounding word but just kept staring at the photo. Sam rolled his eyes, and
The only life that had been in Marks flat was growing out of his mugs. The smell of foul mustard and loneliness filled the air of the forbidding suite; with it’s unpainted floor and its small, square windows. To the left of the front door hung a gloomy painting of a crying clown, which was as sad as the sunless sea. Mark left his grim flat, leaving the leaden bed that was as lonely as a whale in the vast ocean. He was slugging through the swarming crowd, as the lights glanced and the seagulls laughed. Mark fell into his dusty car and started the engine, it coughed then started to roll along. The traffic inflamed his temper but he finally arrived at work.
As Mark entered the office people passed him but would pretend he wasn’t there, he would stare at the ground as he slumbered through the bare hallways. Finally his frail frame sat down on his plain chair, at his plain desk, and turned on his plain computer.
As the hard rain tapped at the window mark grasped the bent and damp picture of his little family, which was on his otherwise empty wall, it was the only one he had of the hateful people ever since they ditched him as soon as he turned eighteen. Suddenly the door to the hallway flung open… Mark listened carefully as he heard powerful footsteps march towards him.
“Oh Mark, why do you keep that litter on your wall. It’s not like they ever cared about you.” Sam said as his eyes locked on Mark but he just kept looking at the picture. Sam was younger, good looking- the complete opposite of Mark-and he was the bosses son so he could do whatever he wanted and Mark hated him for that. “I mean, I would say stick some photos of you and your friends you don’t have any friends, or anyone really. Just some lonely man staring at a picture of his stupid ‘family’ and wondering whether they think about you at all, when in reality they probable wish you never existed.” Mark heard every wounding word but just kept staring at the photo. Sam rolled his eyes, and