I found my spot in the endless line of desperate, lonely, and sick looking humans looking for work.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, tasked us to write a complete story (Beginning, Middle, and End) based on the photo prompt provided in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt. Other stories can be found by clicking here.
“Are you hungry mister,” my wife asks as she rolls down the car window.
“John David Thomas” the figure in the old faded Army fatigues with crutches across his body slurs. “Yes Miss I am.”
“Here’s some food we have left over from dinner at Harry’s”, Carole says.
“Are you homeless,” my wife asks.
“I live down by the cemetery with my old mother and my goat,” he mumbles.
As we leave he continues “You have an extra three dollars you can spare. Liquor store is just down there. Hey! What’s in this bag anyway.
This post submitted to Friday Fictioneers.
“The illegals live there, officer.” The homeless man motioned ahead.
Here on the southwest edge of the city it was quite dirty and the area under the bridge oozed with feces and muddy water mixed with trash. The people were huddled together in a sprawling mass that covered the entire area shaded by the overhead bridge.
“Stinks like hell,” the border agent said.
“Just the beginning from what I hear. They say many more of their kind are on there way. Fleeing from gang violence and poverty. Can’t say that I blame them. Welcome to my world Amigos.”