Cirus The Beggar- Chapter 1

This starts the first chapter of a serial novel that will be published chapter-by-chapter on medium.com. The author does plan on releasing an entire physical book once the medium.com version is complete. Please read and enjoy. Look for a new chapter of “Cirus The Beggar” every three to four weeks (or on the first Sunday of every month).

-Dr. Kimberly A. McKenzie-Klemm (author)

Perched in the dirt of an abandoned alley flanked by a wall covered in urine stains, Cirus patted the rags on his shoulders, rattling his tin can with its few pennies. A man with hair as ancient as the gray in Cirus’ beard walked past the alley on the sidewalk and stopped. The man turned and stared at the filthy heap of a human that was Cirus. He raised a hand in greeting.

“I won’t hurt you. Let me come near,” said the man. Cirus rattled his tin can and stared vacantly ahead. Taking a few steps toward Cirus, the man lifted his hands in front of him, shutting his eyes. “Jesus, in the name of the Holy Father God, I beseech you, heal this creature in the streets and restore him to a man’s stature for the common good. Raise a beggar from rags to social propriety and give back to him a value for the sake of kindness. Amen.” The man departed.

Twisting his tangled, long, greasy gray hair around his fingers, Cirus continued to rattle his tin can. A dirty bluebird swooped into the alleyway from over the back wall. Landing next to a suspicious puddle formed at the end of a long, vertical drain pipe that was half-separated from one of the building walls bordering the alleyway, the bluebird pecked at invisible crumbs.

Glancing at the bird, Cirus imagined roasting it on a spit over a trashcan fire. He was too far away and too close to the ground to catch the bluebird, but Cirus’s empty stomach rumbled with the thought of something to eat. He shook his tin can hard, making a huge gesture with his arms, and screamed “Arrrrrggghhh.” Scaring off the bluebird was successful. Cirus bent his head as the bird flew past his head toward the street.

Sam sat at a table in the middle of the food court inside Harrytown Mall. As a middle-aged, single investment banker, he ate lunch in places conducive to meeting other people. Watching the foot traffic come and go from the surrounding stores while he picked over a Greek salad, Sam noticed two girls exit a store with their heads down and their purses clutched tight. One punched the other in the arm. Sam laughed out loud. “They must be related,” Sam thought to himself.

Finishing his salad while continuing to “people watch,” Sam nodded to the woman and child sitting at the table across from him and picked up his food court tray. He walked to the trash bins, dumped his tray’s trash, and put the tray in the tray holder on top. Patting his pants pocket, Sam suddenly panicked. His wallet was missing, but he still had his car keys. He searched his jacket, his pants, and his shirt and found nothing but a pen. Flagging down a security guard at the edge of the food court, Sam explained his wallet was missing and asked if the security guard had noticed anyone suspicious casing the food court. Smiling and shrugging, the security guard told Sam that the food court was a target zone, and if he had lost his wallet recently, then Sam should check with the Harrytown Mall “lost and found” department in a few hours or tomorrow. Sam spun around and strode off into the Harrytown Mall halls. Walking toward the Harrytown Mall entrance or exit doors, Sam noticed some of the stores were closed, and some of them were open. Although it was within normal operating hours, the Harrytown Mall empty storefronts showed the mall was not operating at full financial capacity. “Hooligans and bums in the corners next,” Sam muttered under his breath. Entering the parking lot, Sam saw two squirrels chasing each other around the wheels of the automobiles sitting in the first painted slots. Crumbs littered the asphalt. Squinting into the afternoon sun, Sam searched for his car.

An old woman stood at her kitchen sink washing dishes and gazing out the window of her apartment. Her gnarled hands ached, and her fingers barely gripped the dishes. The view from the kitchen spanned an alleyway and looked at another apartment building’s windows on the other side. Living in an apartment that was smaller than most, room to stand between the sink and the small table where the old woman took her meals was a precious commodity. She had lived in her apartment for years, since her early thirties, and given up chasing the dream of a grander life in a larger city.

Starting the last few years, the old woman could not leave her home often. Her food was delivered, and doctors made house calls. The old woman was proud of keeping her small apartment clean and tidy. She had always been an organized person.

As the old woman carefully turned a plate in the soapy water in the kitchen sink, she noticed a man in the apartment building’s window across the way. He walked to and from his own window, pacing a tired pathway into his floor. The old woman saw him stop, look down at the alleyway, and resume his pacing. She was more than old enough to notice strange behaviors when they appeared in others, but too old to be more curious about the problems of a neighbor.

Putting the plate on the dish rack on the kitchen counter to dry, the old woman rubbed her hands on the ancient apron tied around her waist and found her broom. Crumbs of lunch left under the small table needed attention before she would lie down for her afternoon nap.