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The beggar dashed away from the cart with is heart pumping and feet feeling as though two shoes of lead had been branded around them. His breath was short and his head filled with contempt for his own being. He ran non-stop to his friends waiting two blocks away in an abandoned ally. He ran not for himself but for his friends, as they had done time after time for him. The bread that he had stole was not a meal for one, but a meal for three.
The only meal that most would see for two days, and that was in a good week. If too much bread was stolen the owner of the cart might become suspicious, and then a new source of food would need to be established. I hope you got the bread I am starved. One pauper whispered form the corner. Yea, of course I got it, you think Im gonna let you starve, Jesus. You all remember the pact right.
One dont eat, we all dont eat. Come on stop talking and split that bread The third pauper wined as he talked. After splitting the bread the three settled down in the corner to go to sleep. As they drifted to sleep they thought about their close friendship with each other and how any could manage without the others.
As each said goodnight in a repeated triangle of voices the rain that had, unannounced to them, been expected that night began its steady and depressing splattering of tiny wet drops. Without thought the three combined their torn and worn overcoats to create a makeshift cover and keep the majority of the tiny drops The next morning, after the rain clouds had retreated to the north, the first of the beggars aroused from his tossing slumber. Next to him the gutter rattled with the water of the storm the night before. He glanced toward the noise and in an instant, and without thinking plucked a piece of drifting paper off the flowing water. His thought was to use the piece of paper later after it had dried out, as a book mark for the novels he plucked from the garbage. He was amazed at how many novels were thrown out after the reader had finished.
Once he had found a worn copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in a dumpster outside a broken down apartment building on the corner of 21 st street. It had several burn marks where a cigarette had carelessly been laid by its former owner, and the last three pages had been torn out in a diagonal pattern so that he could read to the end and never find out the fates of the incredible characters. This bookmark turned out to be something quite different indeed. This washed and worn piece of paper was a lottery ticket.
But the fact remained, that if it had been cast aside so easily it must be one of the million other false hope creators scattered about the streets of every city in the United States. When the other two woke up they were surprised to see their friend pulling a filthy and crinkled paper out of the nearby garbage can. The first two pages had been stuck together with gum, and the next few were torn and tattered, but enough was visible to Jack, what in the hell you think your doin, what you need to read the news for? The drowsy pair of men pulled themselves up from their slumber with a mild chuckle at Well, if ya must know Charlie, Im checkin my lottery ticket.
Although the words sounded funny, even to himself, coming out, he still took a great deal of offense when his two partners bent over with laughter. Laugh all ya want, but if I get rich I aint As he plundered to pull the disintegrating pages apart he realized he had to be crazy, but if he had any chance of getting out of the gutter, it shore wasnt going to come through hard work. That method had been tried before, in his pre-pauper stage when he tried his hand at working for a successful insurance agency. Two faulty deals and a trial for fraud later he was in the gutter. Three, six, eight, one, seven, one, OK if I get at least three I get a hundred bucks.
He stared down at the rotting paper and focused on the number: 368171. His eyes widened as he jumped to his feet with amazement. I won, I won, I... ahhhh, I won! He clamored to his long term friends and praised each for their company through the years, and after assuring them he would split the money three ways, he looked up and fell to the My chest... I cant feel my arm, I...
help me. He fainted with his last word, help. So what we gonna do? , cried Charlie, We better get him to a hospital. Nearly in tears when he spoke, he turned for comfort and advice from his friend. Instead he found the blunt end of a broken coffee table leg in his face. The next day the two men awakened alone in different rooms of a hospital.
They knew what had happened. When Jack fell from his heart attack from his grand excitement, the third man decided to take his opportunity to take the ticket. He had hit his friend so hard that he had lost vision in one eye and required 30 stitches to stop the bleeding. The paper was delivered to each room and each took it up simply out of sheer boredom. The front page read as follows: Beggar Bags the Bucks. A nice half page picture occupied the majority of the cover, with their friend holding a check for 3 As the two men read the article Charlie found himself hating his former friend, but Jake knew what the other had not.
Their friend turned foe had wanted what he got, but would never get what he wanted. Never would he have a true friend, or peaceful moment. He had entered a ring of money, a wicked circle where he was in his own company, of liars and cheats. From riches to rags and from simple to devious, never again would he Bibliography:
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Research essay sample on Piece Of Paper Lottery Ticket
