The streets seemed to hate Stephen Bosch. Maybe they didn’t like his hair, maybe it was because he had just stolen an apple from a street vendor not only five minutes ago. Whatever the reason, the streets always seemed to be cold – just for him.
He wrapped his jacket a bit tighter on himself, and carried on walking.
No destination in sight. Just walking.
Music suddenly started blaring from further onward down the street. His favourite song actually – Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Just another tactic the streets were using to taunt him. It was coming from an extremely familiar house, one that only Stephen Bosch knew so well. He thought his spirits couldn’t be any lowered, so he walked towards the music, and what used to be his house.
“Step right up! Step right up! Stephen Bosch’s famous house is up for auction folks! The author of ‘Goosepimples’ and ‘The Starving Games’! Yes people, this is really happening! Also going along with this magnificent house will be – Oh, look who’s here – Mr. Stephen Bosch himself!”
The sizable crowd that was milling around the lawn of his old home, all turned around and gasped, and instantly started booing.
“You are a disgusting, disgusting man!” a high pitched voice sounded from somewhere at the back of the crowd. And then another, coming somewhere from the middle:
“Alright, alright, I’m leaving!” He had to shout to make his voice heard. He turned on the spot and carried on walking. He heard the distinct sound of someone spitting and felt something hit his back. He didn’t even stop walking. As sad as it sounded, this was a normal occurrence for Stephen Bosch.
Ever since Mrs. Thomas leaked those pictures…
The walk went on for another ten minutes before he turned down into an alley, and to the front door of his little apartment. He had been afraid to live in such a shady alleyway, but the homeless guy that usually stayed in the box next to the trashcan was actually a nice guy. Dean wasn’t here now though. He said his other spot was somewhere a few blocks from here. Never stay in one place, that was Deans motto. He seemed so upbeat for a homeless guy.
“Hi there Stitch!”
The little white cat came running up towards Stephen Bosch, and ran in-between his legs, his tail lifting instantly and purring madly.
Stitch was the only reason Stephen carried on going. It was the only living thing that didn’t seem to hate him, which Stephen Bosch conceded to believe that this was due to the fact that Stitch was a cat.
He stopped scratching the cats ears, and stood up straight, walking towards the kitchen.
The flat was a one bedroom, one bathroom set up, and fairly cheap. Which was all Stephen could afford these days. Bus window cleaning didn’t pay too well, to be fair. Life continued and Stephen continued to be miserable with everything apart from Stitch. Eight months passed before it happened.
Stephen woke up one morning and woke to find that Stitch wasn’t in his bed, next to Stephens own bed. This was odd, especially since it was winter and Stitch usually always slept until Stephen woke up.
Stephen walked into the kitchen and found Stitch lying on the floor, completely still. Immediately, Stephen Bosch knelt down and felt the cats unmoving chest. Nothing at all. Stitch was dead. The one thing that made Stephen Bosch continue and get up each morning, and actually bring him some little joy – was now gone. Forever.
The Daily Times
Stephen Bosch – famous author of “The Starving Games” and “Goosepimples” – has been discovered dead in his apartment. Police say that the death was caused by a suicide.
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