Untitled Story: Part I

     I wanted to write a story from three different perspectives. What it would be like to be the victim, to be the victimizer, and the person left with the choice to be the bystander who watches and does nothing, or intervenes with the chance of loosing everything. That being said, here's the story I've been working on. Part I. 

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     A man entered the room swiftly approaching the a young boy's hospital bed. His new polished shoes shined and squeaked with every step. "I understand you have a story to tell me" he said to boy. His voice boomed across the room, he was a foreigner, most likely American and did not match the quiet meek culture that he was now surrounded by.  "I guess I do" the boy repeated. The tape recorder clicked and he set it on the table. "What was the first thing you remember?"

     I walked down the steep mountain to pick up my sisters from school, the holes in my sandals stretching more and more to the sharp rocks beneath me. The walk takes me about two hours, but Ti Mano told me a car could get there in 5 minutes. I've heard great things, and speculations about vehicles I haven't been in one yet though.  

     Reporter: If you don't mind sticking to the basics, I've got 5 other people to interview.

     Boy:   Right. I arrived at the school, but had been banned from entering because of the state of my  shoes. I walked across L street, the main bustling street in Cap Haitian, and sat down on the curb. The cars flew down the street passing the tap taps who slowed at every corner to let passengers exit or enter. Vendors & street merchants were moving as steadily as a river down the busy streets. The smell of freshly roasted cashews struck my nostrils. My stomach churned, eating at itself, begging to be fed. I remembered how that morning I had secretly forked my food on my mother's plate. She would very disappointed if she knew, but Ti Mano told me chicken feet was good for the sick. I shoved my hand into my pockets, empty, always empty. My sisters emerged from the school doors and we began are return, but my eyes remained fixated on the sweet cashews. I was determined to earn 3 gordes, that's all they would cost me, but it would take a lifetime for me to earn.

   Reporter:  Three gordes? Is that even penny?

   Boy:  Everyday, when my I picked my sisters up my stomach ached and shouted at me to eat. Weeks went by, and the smell taunted me. Until one day on my walk I saw something shine from underneath the pebbles. Three gordes! What are the chances? Those buttery nuts were mine! I strutted to vendor as my heart beat with  pride. I announced what  I wanted, unsure if I was living this moment. She raised her eyebrows for a second, but soon started scooping them into a brown paper bags. Three gordes she said. I reached in to my pocket and pulled out two, feeling for the third one, but felt a hole instead. My heart sank, and the lady became impatient. I have it I promise, I do. "You don't have anything" she roared, "not even a decent pair of shoes, step aside for my real customers!" I shamefully walked back to my curb, my shoes squeaking in-step. There was no doubt that I was living this moment. 

     I watched the vendor from the corner of my eye, her large chins bouncing while she pointed and told the story again and again to her friends.  She turned her back for a few seconds, and a wild thought crossed my mind. I shook my head vigorously. I could never steal it, the price to pay would be too high. My stomach roared and my mind suggested the thought again. No. I can't. My legs obviously didn't hear my mind though, because they were transporting me back over to the vendor. Her back was still turned, and she was deeply occupied with something else. The vending cart stood directly in front of me now and I clinched the brown bag still full with my cashews. I put the two gordes down swiftly just incase someone was watching to make it appear like I had paid. I drew my hand backed but this time it was something that had clinched me. The vendor was staring down at me while her finger nails dug into my skin. Thief!  Vile child! Thief!  My mind shut down, and my eyes ceased to work out of fear. 

    Boy:  I felt rocks scraping my knees, my mouth filled with dirt. I was on the ground, the back of my head throbbing. My tongue began to swell and I could taste the blood and sweat in my mouth. I was surrounded by a swarm of people who I knew but could not remember. I had lost all sense of direction & placement. My eyes filled with dust and I could hardly focus, but I caught site of a girls red dress as it blew softly in the wind. My eyes refocused and I caught site of this man's blue shoes. None of this helped me. People were shouting and kicking me, but I didn't know why. A woman reached down with long blackened finger nails and picked me up by the collar, it was then I knew exactly where I was. The vendor was shouting at a man while he tied a noose around my neck and dragged me to the nearest tree. The crowd followed closely chanting "Hang Him! Thief! Thief!"  as they tied the rope to the tree. Before, these trees had seemed to sing joyfully, or the branches would rock back and forth in conversation but now the wind seemed to echo mournfully pushing through them, and the branches cracked and moaned.  

    There was silence for a few minutes. The tape recorder hummed as the wheels turned furiously. Boy: I'm sorry, I think that's all I can remember. 

    Reporter: So you have no idea how you got here? 

    Boy: No, no ideas at all.