TheBanyanTree: IN THE BAG

[smack58 at nycap.rr.com]

This was another take on the same word.  I changed the spelling to fit the story.  It is a piece of flash fiction.

IN THE BAG (182 words)

Zeffer, the old street man, always carried his crinkled brown bag with great care.  His shaky hands held it close to his body and when it rained, he carefully placed it inside his tattered coat—like rain would hurt the kind of wine he'd drink.  We circled large around his tainted odor, and shook our heads at his sad frame, wishing the likes of him would disappear.

When the boys took his bag the day of the beating, they shook it at him and threatened to throw it away.  He cried and stretched out his hands, reaching and begging for it, his tears making dirty tracks.

“Hey old man,” they taunted.  “Want your bag back?  What’s in it?  Don’t feel like no bottle of wine.  Maybe we should just pitch it.”

When Zeffer fell forward and didn't move after several hard kicks, it frightened the boys and as they ran away, they tossed the bag savagely at his inert body, hitting his head. 

The precious photos spilled and fluttered around him, framing his head in their black and white Kodak shine.