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Short stories: Despair

by Christopher Welsch

Created on: September 17, 2009

Manuel paced quickly down the dark city streets. He wanted to hurry home to rest. The ten hour days at a pen factory stole much of his energy. He could not wait to fuse himself with his secondhand couch that still smelt like cigarettes.

About a year ago, Manuel legally came to the United States. He came here for the same reason other immigrants did, for a better life and a better future. He sent about half his paycheck back to his mother in Jalisco, Mexico. Without his help, she could not afford necessities, like food and rent.

After a three mile walk, he finally arrived home. He was too tired to stand in the shower, so he rested on the couch first. A rancid smell crept up his large nose. He looked around his small, but clean, apartment, and then realized, the smell came from him. He could not wait to gather his energy so that he could clean himself.

He noticed the red light on his answering machine flashing. He used his hands to move his body across the couch to play the message.

"This is Jennifer White, your landlord. I have not received your rent for almost two months now. This is in violation of your contract. You will receive a 30 day notice in the mail soon. You must move out."

He could not fully understand the message the first time because of his lack of understanding the English language. He replayed it several times, and then he clearly understood. His heart felt so heavy that he should have fell into the Earth's core. All his dreams were crushed. He had no money saved up and could not afford to stay in California.

He called the most important person to him, his mother. When he told her, he held back his tears. She openly wept with compassion for her son's misfortune. During their conversation, she suggested that he return home, to Mexico. He was indecisive and could not bring himself to tell his mother that he failed. Although, he knew what he had to do.

After hours of conversation, the elderly woman began to tire. She ended the call with dry eyes. Afterwards, Manuel grabbed an almost full bottle of tequila from an almost empty freezer. He returned to the couch and watched television for an hour. He liked watching television because it helped him to grasp our language.

The smell crept up his nose again, reminding him to take a shower. While in the shower, he sat in the fetal position and wept like a child. He thought of how all his dreams ceased because of one woman named Jennifer. He sat in the shower until it turned cold because he was

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