Thoughts on my short story?
Question by Kole: Thoughts on my short story?
This is just a snippet:
Just Another Scam
I get asked what the worst part about my time as a homeless person was. The answer is always the same. There’s no bathrooms. If you have to take a crap you have to search high and low for a place that doesn’t care that you’ll never buy something from them. Those bathrooms were a treasure cove. After you did your thing you could use the sink to take a “whores bath”, basically a sponge bath using the tiny amount of soap in the dispenser. You could also wash your change of clothes (which were kept secure in your backpack of course). All this was made even more interesting because I have OCD and being clean is the most important thing in the world to me.
After people get bored of the standard homeless questions I always get this one: what do you remember most about being homeless. This is also easy to answer. I remember the day I scammed a scammer.
It all started on a boring suburban street, in a boring suburban neighborhood. When I was homeless I was able to finagle myself into a door to door sales job. It’s surprising how many door to door guys are homeless or near homeless. It’s the only job that anyone can get because it’s pure commission.
I looked up at the house. I took a step forward. I was about to trespass on someone’s property with the soul intent of selling them crappy knives that couldn’t cut an apple. I started to turn around but before I could some woman inside saw me. Through the window I could see her walking towards the door.
I froze. Do I go forward and try to force the stupid sales message on her, or do I turn and run. Each second I didn’t move she got closer to the door. I straightened my back and tried to walk confidently up to the door. I thought about the pitch, the cheesy script that was forced down my throat all morning. I went through it over and over again in my head as I got closer. I don’t knock on doors, theres no telling how many germs could be on it. I put my cloth over my finger and went to ring the doorbell but she opened the door before I could.
“Can I help you?” She said.
“Yes actually, my name’s Steve, I represent…”
“Not interested.”
She slammed the door in my face and I just stared at it in disbelief. Crying inside I stepped away form the house. It was the 20th house that day. I wasn’t going to make enough to pay first and last on an apartment. Welcome to another month of homelessness.
Then the call came.
I pulled out my cell phone, one of the final reminders of my life before homelessness. It was my last connection to my past so I kept adding minutes to it every month. I wiped it with my cloth and looked at the cracked screen. I could just barely make out my dads number. Probably calling to tell me how I should be investing my money. He struck it rich by investing in RIM before the first blackberry came out. He had no idea I was homeless.
My dad was in the hospital. He was calling me to let me know he was okay. He’d had a panic attack and my mom had found him crying on the floor. One of those situations where a trip to the hospital was necessary.
Why the panic attack? Well my dad was having these secret “business meetings” with some dude. He confessed what the meetings were about over the phone. When he told me it was obvious that he had fallen victim to a modern version of the old “Nigerian Prince needs to transfer money into a foreign account” scam. The twist? Dude was in the city, not Nigeria. The guy had gotten all of my dads’ savings. Every last cent he got for investing in RIM.
Thats when I got the idea. This guy made tons of money screwing innocent people over. I could make just as much screwing criminals over…
#
When I arrived at the internet café I looked around and coughed. It was like a haven for disease. I couldn’t touch anything without imagining little bugs jumping on to my skin and burrowing deep into my body. I sat down in one of the dirty chairs and tentatively clicked the mouse. I had to stop thinking about how disgusting it was and just do it. I started to type. I signed into my dads e-mail account. His inbox was almost entirely filled with either spam or this scammers e-mails. The jerk kept saying my dad was closed to getting the money he just needed to pay a small fee here and there. The fees were small but they added up. In the end the guy got most of my dads cash over a few years.
The owner of the place walked over.
“It’s 2 dollars a half over, can you pay that?”
“Yah.”
“Can you pay that now?”
The guy held his hand out. I looked at it in a panic. A girl nearby got up and glanced at my screen as she walked by.
“You know that’s a scam right?”
“Yah.”
&q
Best answer:
Answer by Diana
That’s really good. It produces a problem, and the character seems pretty realistic. You have good organization, and I want to read more. This story has promise, a plot forming rapidly. This is amazing work. I love how it makes sense. Some other people post stories of theirs, and those either start in the middle of nowhere or have a boring beginning. You didn’t do any of these. This story is so good, you should finish it and send it to a publishing company.
Give your answer to this question below!
