I Wrote This Story In The 7th Grade And Now I’m Posting It On Boredpanda

I had the idea to write this story back in seventh grade because I was poorer than most of my classmate’s. Before I wrote this I tried to write the character backgrounds and story plot, you now, to be professional. I left it hanging in the middle of a paragraph and I just found it (i’m in 9th grade) and I want to complete the story. I was hoping the boredpanda community could help me out with proof reading it and giving me instructional criticism. I’ve done a lot thanks to grammar.ly but it still feels like it needs something. My story is titled “The Poor”. Please don’t be to hard me, i’m new to writing.

The Poor

Author; Alexia N.

Special dedication to my brother, Patrick, who I love dearly, even though he’s kind of a brat.

Chapter 1

My Life

I clutched my brother’s hand, giving him the signal it was clear. I watched the passing couple and nodded to my brother. He smiled at the two, as we walked. Then he tripped, just like we’d practice, on the man’s shoe. I saw him snatch, and I knew we had fooled them when the man smiled warmly and apologized.

They were a nice couple, and I hated stealing from the nice ones, but we needed the money, and every time I got a job, old habits would kick in and I would do something I’d regret later.

My brother smiled sweetly at the couple, and then quickly looked at his shoes. I knew it made him feel guilty to steal, but people trusted children more, and we hadn’t eaten anything that day. I hated it. The stealing. But what else could I do? Let him starve? We walked away quickly, and as soon as the couple was out of sight I took the wallet from Jamie.

“Come on buddy, let’s get moving, before they realize,” I said quietly. He turned his head away from me and quickened his pace.

We slowed down when I saw Scotties, a gas station that we frequently went to, it changed its name a long time ago, but we still call it Scotties. We should probably stop taking things from there, I think the cashier is starting to suspect, but it was like a tradition. And we didn’t just come here to steal, we also came to wash up in the restroom.

I snatched a KitKat bar, from the shelf as I walked to the bathroom. I went in and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a typical hobo. I turned the water on and tried to scrub some of the dirt off my face, but quickly gave up, and started opening the kitkat bar, I waited until I heard the flush from the men’s bathroom. I threw away the wrapper and, started off.

“Hey, haven’t you heard? there’s a new policy, you gotta buy something if you use the restroom.” the cashier said with an ugly sneer. He looked about a hundred years old and had been working here since as long as I can remember. I knew there was no policy, and he knew it too.”Yes, sir, I’ll make a note of it,” I said with extra sarcasm. I smiled at the cashier, then looked down at Jamie. “Come, on buddy, let’s get out of here,” I whispered. Jamie smiled and nodded. Then he stuck his tongue out at the cashier whose name tag, I now saw, said Mark.

~~~

We walked around for a bit and visited Mrs. Jenkins. I knew we couldn’t go home today, the landlord was doing around check. We lived in an abandoned apartment on the 3rd floor. We had to make sure we were quiet, and that we weren’t around when the landlord was. I knew someday someone would start renting the apartment, but it wouldn’t be anytime soon. There was a homicide in our apartment, and most people thought it was bad luck or something to live there.

Mrs. Jenkins was an old friend of my mom’s and had been like a grandmother to me and Jamie our whole lives, she was older than we’ll ever know.

“Hey, Mrs. Jenkins. How are you?” I said smiling. My smile faltered when she looked at me flatly. “You talkin tongues child? What the hell are you saying?” her words were slurred, and I could tell that she had started drinking early. I cringed at the thought of drinking. My mother drank all the time, and she was not a nice drinker, she got angry when she drank. I thought of the beatings I received. But when Jamie was born I knew it had to stop.

But that was in the past. Mrs. Jenkins was always kind even when she was drunk, though she sometimes got confused. “no Mrs. Jenkins I’m not talking tongues, I was asking how are you doing.” I said forcing a smile. She looked at me strangely, as if it was obvious, and said, “same as I always been,” then she smiled and said, “now, where is that boy? I ain’t seen him since I can’t remember when.” I rolled my eyes. This woman couldn’t remember yesterday, which makes sense because the last time she saw Jamie WAS yesterday.Jamie WAS yesterday.

Just on time, Jamie ran in and jumped on the old couch that smelled of mildew. Mrs. Jenkins lived in a nursing home almost as old as her. Almost. She moved in not too long ago, though begrudgingly, We thought about moving in, the nursing home had a no children policy and Mrs. Jenkins had a roommate who hated kids.

“Is she here?” I asked while taking a look around. I still wasn’t accustomed to the nursing home, there weren’t many nurses, on account of what happened last year when the funding stopped and the nurses went on strike.

“Nah, she went out with the new neighbor,” she made a face the same time I did. That woman, though child hater she was, had a new “man” every night, but at least that kept her away.

Jamie starts to cough heavily. I run to him and pat him on the back.

“Your gonna be fine, just let it out.” I hope that I sound more convincing then I feel. He’d been coughing like this all night last night, and he’d been running a fever on and off too. I look over at Mrs. Jenkins. She watches Jamie with a perplexed look on her face.

“What’s got into him?” Mrs. Jenkins said still in a light tone, but I could see the concern in her graying eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with him,”I say with a calm, definite tone. I let my hair fall in my face and hope that she drops it.