The Beggar and the Bitch

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Recommended: A narrative essay about imagination

The Beggar and the Bitch The blocks of concrete sidewalk in between two rusty, red brick buildings prickle my skin. I lay out my piece of brown corrugated cardboard and am comforted by its smoothness. It provides insulation on a breezy summer night. I curl up, cramped, in the fetal position; my limbs grow limp as my eyelids weigh down over two chocolate eyes. I can feel my fuzzy black dreadlocks falling down the nape of my neck and into the collar of my thin cotton t-shirt. I pull my white tube socks up to my knees with the help of my toes; only the space between them and the bottom of my shorts is now left uncovered and open to the wind. I deliberately position myself in an attempt to conserve energy before morning comes and invites my stomach to turn into a ferocious growling beast. The storeowner will harp about me finding another stoop by prodding my body with a cobweb-infested broom. I will worry about that tomorrow. For now, I escape into a deep, silent slumber. I begin to dream of another life with a different social setting. My dream becomes a nightmare as fingers of the city's darkness wrap around my body. A lady sitting on the roof of a white stretch limousine wears a frilly red dress and beckons to me with pouting lips and longing eyes. Her haughty body language dominates the natural surroundings and commands that all who gaze upon her know of her superiority. Her pink skin is pulled and pierced and stretched by massive amounts of beaded pearls and jewels. Everything of beauty at that moment is ruffled by a gentle wind. Tree branches, the clouds, and billowing red fabric move without restraint. The mysterious woman's twiggy figure and peroxide-blonde hair remain rigid, unmoved, and stoic. The mental image is fin... ... middle of paper ... ...e red lady blows a light, grayish puff of smoke in my direction and my eyes begin to twitch. My two brown eyelids flutter awake, and I slowly become aware of my surroundings. It is a late night in the city, and I can hear the streetlight buzzing above me. I roll onto my stomach and find the little girl in the same state as I had earlier, coughing incessantly. My stomach growls, and the car tires circle rhythmically on the warm, wet pavement. I awake from one nightmare, and continue to combat the real struggles in my life. Works Cited Gupta, A.R. Cast Hierarchy and Social Change. New Delhi, India: Jyntsna Prakashan, 1984. Hesford, Wendy. "Memory Work." Critical Convergences. Boston: Pearson, 2002. 253-263. Kirkland, Douglas. Brigitte Nielson, Hollywood. New York: Southward and Hawes. Richards, Eugene. New York Beggar. Chicago: National Geographic.

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