Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

God Bless Us All, Every One

All around me crowds of people rush past, scurrying like ants from one task to the next. For every minute that goes by they have yet another package in their grasp, another bag tucked under their arm. They have so many things.

I have none.

I sit here on a bench, between the sunglasses and cell phones kiosks, and watch them rush past in massive, undulating throngs. The man trying to sell sunglasses stops people as they rush past, trying to interest them in his sales pitch. But he never even looks at me. I guess it's pretty obvious I'm not going to be buying glasses today.

Mothers glance suspiciously at me as they walk by; they hold their children's hands tighter, and pick up their pace until they are past me. Teenagers stare openly and giggle, pointing their fingers and drawing their friends' attention to me.

I have news for you, mothers: I'm not a monster. I have news for you, snotty youngsters: I'm not a circus freakshow.

"Excuse me, sir." I look up. It's the first person who has spoken to me since I sat on this bench an hour ago. He's wearing a uniform. Mall security. "Are you shopping?" he asks.

I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not shopping. I shake my head.

"Sir," the man in uniform says, "If you're not shopping, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"It's cold out there," I mumble.

"I'm sorry sir. We still can't have you loitering if you're not going to shop. Can I walk you to the door?"

This man has an ounce of kindness in his heart - I can see the compassion in his eyes. But the ounce of kindness isn't enough to outweigh the sense of duty that drives him. I don't blame him - a job is a special thing - it's the only thing that stands between him and me, and I think he knows it.

If only those frantic, consumer frenzied throngs knew what he knows, maybe things would be different for all of us. Maybe then God would hear Tiny Tim's prayer and bless us all, every one.

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