New York is Killing Me

lucy-sol

Dearest Omari,

This is not the New York our father spoke of. Many things he told us have proven to be true, but he was wrong about the city itself. He attributed his success here to hard work and what I will call moral authority, that feeling that he would not be denied.

I have brought both to my work here, but it has not helped. It is a cold place, uncaring. How can one man make an impression when there are thousands standing behind him, waiting to take his place?

Even the boldest action will not pierce the indifference.

 

Friday Fictioneers

7 thoughts on “New York is Killing Me

  1. Dear Speedway,

    This was a tale of sadness amid a sea of faceless humanity. Very well put together. The last line is intriguing and the whole leaves me wanting more.

    Yours,

    Doug

  2. Very well done. I really loved this. My Dad has been to New York a couple of times I think and I clearly remember him returning to Sydney talking about “New Yorkers” and how they were a different breed. All rush rush and no one stopping for anyone. That you could fall over in the street and the stampede would march straight over the top of you. Not sure how true that is. Could you ask someone the time and get a decent response? I’d be interested in your thoughts on this.
    I am a person who is used to having a relationship with those I deal with. We’re a community and keep an eye out for each other, but aI’m now living in a beach community just North of Sydney and you need that interaction. You never know when you’re going to get stuck. I used to live in Geraldton in Western Australia and people would always stop and ask if you’re okay if you’ve pulled over by the road. You could end up dead out there without water etc, You can’t just rely on number 1.
    I’d love to see this extended to 1500 words as a short story.
    xx Rowena

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