Date: Tue, 24 Apr 2012 11:23:05 -0600
From: Michael king <thewriter1@live.ca>
Subject: Lives changed chapter1-A

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction any and all characters are solely
from my mind any resemblance to the living is purely coincidental.

     This work is copy written by me and may not be downloaded, or
electronically moved without my permission

LIVES CHANGED
CHAPTER ONE

PATRICK

	Thirteen years ago a family grew by one, the birth of Patrick was
long expected, but the parents knew that now that there were eight of them
things would be hard, for they lived in the in the rough part of town, a
place filled with hatred.  Many young teens were out on the streets selling
drugs or running in gangs. Every night there were fights; and people
getting shot, but there wasn't a chance for baby Patrick or his family to
move away.

	Patrick's father worked as a janitor for one of the major companies
in the city, just barely making enough to feed and house his family, but he
never gave up. When Patrick was five years old his oldest brother was shot
and killed in a drive-by shooting. At five years of age Patrick couldn't
fully understand what had happened. All he knew was that his brother had
gone away. School started for Patrick when he was six and he did well in
his classes, but he really didn't put his heart into it. He felt that his
life was on a dead end road and that there was no help for him or his
family.

Now at the age of fourteen, Patrick was about to start grade nine and he
felt that life really sucked, his clothes were worn out his lunches when he
did have them just consisted of a sandwich. What he didn't know was that
this was the year his life was about to change for the best. He had put his
books in his locker and was heading back to his home room when he was
knocked onto his butt. "Why don't you watch were your walking girl?"
Patrick snapped more surprised than hurt.

"Sorry kid, didn't see you, I'm kinda lost and new here, as for being a
girl well you got that wrong." The boy answered helping Patrick stand up.

"Sorry dude, but what you looking for?" Patrick asked.

"My locker, its number is five ten." The boy replied.

"Come on, it's this way."

"Thanks, hope this doesn't make you late for class?"

"Don't matter, they suck anyways."

"No way dude, school is awesome."

"For you maybe, but what good is it when you probably already know what
your going to be doing when your done?"

"It's a chance to change things."

"Yeah right, well here this is yours, and good luck."

"Thanks, hope to see you around."

"Doubt it."

"Never know."

	Patrick left the new kid to stuff his things away and headed off to
class. He had just sat when the teacher walked in. " Okay class get your
books out, today we are going to read a poem that was written by a fifteen
year old and after you have read it I want you to write an essay on it."
The teacher spoke.

"Why do we have to read some dumb poem?" Patrick asked.

"Well young man,,, Yes who are you?" The teacher started

"Sorry ma'am I am Malcolm Daniels and I kinda got lost trying to find your
class." Malcolm answered

"Well have a seat beside Patrick. Now Patrick we have to read it because
the man that wrote it died a week after he had it published." The teacher
snapped

"Oh, kewl." Malcolm smiled.

"Malcolm, do you have a copy of the poem we are talking about?" The teacher
asked

"Which poem?" Malcolm asked

"The Walk, it was written by a Michael King."

"Yes ma'am I do, and Ma'am, and the man didn't die, he went into hiding,
because everyone thought he was crazy, and so they always bullied him."
Malcolm

"Oh and how do you know so much about the man that wrote it?" The teacher
asked.

"Easy, I know the writer and I have read all his poems, and I can tell you
that he wasn't crazy, he just had a dark side to him sometimes, sort of
like Rimbaud."

"Well since you know so much about it why don't you tell us how you felt
when you first read it?"

"Ma'am I can't do that."

"And why not?"

"Because, how I felt is personal and very private, but I can tell you this,
the poem deals with loneliness and true love. The rest you will have to
figure out yourself."

"Well then I want you to read another poem and then do the same essay that
the rest of the class has to do."

"Sure, I can do that."

"Dude, you got to be nuts talking to her like that, I heard she can be a
real bitch at times." Patrick whispered

"Dude there is nothing she can do that will bother me."

"Yeah right, so what poem you going to read?" Malcolm whispered back

"I think I will do the one called A Rose's Kiss."

	The class was silent as the students read, then started writing
their essays. Patrick was having a bit of trouble as he was a slow reader,
but he got through it all, and then started writing. Just before class
ended Patrick managed to hand his essay in. for weeks he didn't here
anything on what mark the teacher given him. During this time Patrick had
started to build a friendship with Malcolm. The two were always seen during
school hours sitting talking and laughing.

	By the third Friday after the essay had been turned in, the english
class had just sat when the teacher stood. "Afternoon students, I have gone
over all your essays for the poems that I asked you to do, and I must say,
that some of you are very astute and have grasped the meaning behind it,
however one student seems to have gone one step further, by writing what
was going on in the writers mind at the time. So please sit up and
listen. The teacher spoke. "There are many things one can take from this
poem, but to many people think that one must try to understand what the
meaning behind some people's words or writings are, I however don't think
we can do that. The Walk was written about a love found, lost and found
again. All so simple, a true love will always come back. It is like a
prayer or a dream if you want and believe in both then they will happen.

	That class is what I mean when I say that he knows what the writer
was thinking. The writer believed in true love and he found it." The
teacher said as she finished reading the essay.

"No he didn't. He was ridiculed and laughed at, he wrote that poem hoping
that his true love would read it and come back." Malcolm spoke up.

"Young man, I do not tolerate outburst in my class." The teacher snapped,
glaring at Malcolm.

"Then don't try to think you know what went on, you didn't know him, I did,
he was a broken man, and he had only me to help him. As for that paper your
right the person got it perfect, in saying that if you pray and dream and
believe in those things, then they will come true. I won't sit here and
listen to you try to show this class that you know what the writer was
thinking."

	Patrick, who was sitting beside Malcolm was shocked at the
outburst, but inside he was happy, because now he wasn't the only one on
the teacher's bad side.

	When the class ended, Patrick saw that he had gotten a B plus on
his essay. Leaving class he headed to his locker. He had just opened in
when three grade ten boys walked up. "Hey white trash, I here your starting
to get smart, I think you better learn your place in the food chain and you
are at the bottom with the other trash." A boy from one of the higher
grades taunted.

	This boy and two of his friends had being calling Patrick and a few
other kids in school names, picking on them and pushing them around
whenever they could and they did it with out ever getting caught.

"I think your wrong, the only trash I see here are you three, so why not go
jump in the bins where you belong." Patrick spoke a bit of fear in his
voice, but he wasn't about to back down to these three.

"Oh, so you're tough also, I guess you think you can beat us." The first
boy spoke again.

"I have no idea what you think, in fact I don't know if you think at all."
Patrick laughed.

"That's it, your so dead."

"Patrick are you coming." Malcolm called.

"Yeah." Patrick called out.

"You're not going anywhere bitch."

"Sorry dude I got to go, see you around unless you end up in the dump with
the rest of your family."

	Laughing Patrick slipped by the three before they could say
anything. Outside Patrick stopped.  "Thanks, I thought I was dead there for
a minute." Patrick whispered.

"Nah, there just bullies they think that cause no one stands up to them
they have it easy." Replied Malcolm

"Maybe so, but man I was shaking."

"Look if you want I will watch your back see that they don't do anything to
you?"

"Why, you heard what they called me?"

"Yeah I heard, but I know differently."

"But I am trash; hell I live on the wrong side of the tracks, where it's
drugs, fights and killings all the time."

"So you believe what everyone says?"

"Yeah got to, no one cares what happens to people over there."

"Your wrong I bet."

"Why don't you come over and see for yourself sometime?"

"Okay, how about this weekend."

"You mean it, you'll come onto my side of town?"

"Sure."

"Okay be here at ten Sunday morning and we'll go together."

"Deal."

	Patrick walked home, not believing that Malcolm would show up. Up
in his room he did his homework and then had dinner. "Mom, dad, I have to
meet a friend at school in the morning, then I would like him to meet you
both, would that be okay?" Patrick asked.

" Well I don't know; what if you get hurt?" his mom spoke up."

"I won't, Malcolm said he wanted to come see this part of town." Patrick
spoke

"Why would he want to do that?" Patrick's dad asked.

"Because he doesn't believe we are trash. I want to show him that he's
wrong." Patrick replied

"Son I know we don't have lots, but one thing we are not is trash, no
matter what others say." His dad snapped.

" Yeah right, I mean look at us, the house is falling apart, Dad I know
your trying your best and I love you, but please can you at least meet my
friend?"

"Son I would be glad to meet him. Just stop thinking your trash, because
your not."

"Okay and thanks dad you're the greatest."

"Now off you go Patrick, you can watch t.v for a while then off to bed."

"Sweet."

	Hugging his parents Patrick joined his brothers and sisters in the
front room watching t.v.

"Well dear, that is something new." Patrick's mom spoke from the table.

"It sure is, I never thought that Patrick would have a friend that cared
enough." Patrick's dad smiled.

"Well let's just wait till we meet this Malcolm boy, but from what I can
see it makes Pat happy."

"That it does."

	For Patrick the next two nights seemed to last forever, but at
eight Sunday morning he was up, dressed and out the door heading back to
the school. He had just gotten there when he saw Malcolm sitting on the
steps. He was wearing an old t-shirt, and worn jeans. His baseball cap was
covering his eyes and his hair was running down his back in a fantail. "I
didn't think you'd show up." Patrick said as he stopped at the base of the
stairs.

"I told you it was a deal, now you had breakfast?" Malcolm answered a smile
on his face.

"Not yet."

"Okay then lets go chow down then head over to your place."

"You're still coming over?"

"Yeah."

"Okay.  Where are we going to eat?"

"Oh I was thinking of eating at Michael's place, they serve great waffles."

"I've never heard of the place."

"Then you're in for a treat."

	Michael's place was packed, that is except for one table in the
back corner by the window. The waitress met us at the front. "Hi boys; you
must be Patrick? And morning to you Malcolm." The waitress spoke.

"I am, why?" Patrick asked.

"Well come this way, your table is waiting for you, I understand you like
fresh apple juice?" The waitress asked.

"Yes ma'am, but how did you know?"

"Oh a little birdie told me. Now have a seat, do you want two or three
waffles?"

"Can I have four?"

"Sure and if that isn't enough then you can have more."

"Sweet, and thanks."

"You are very welcome. Now enjoy your meals, Malcolm your usual?"

"Yes Maggie, oh and you better make it two glasses of apple juice for
Patrick here." Malcolm spoke

"Right away." Maggie laughed.

	With her gone Patrick looked a Malcolm, a small smile on his
face. "Dude, how does she know so much about you?" Patrick asked.

"Cause I come here all the time for breakfast before I head to school."
Malcolm answered.

"Oh, so I guess that you got lots of money."

"Does it really matter? All I want is a friend.

 "Why do you want to be friends with a loser like me?"

"Your not a loser, besides you were the only one that knew what I was
thinking when I wrote that poem."

"Wait, I thought you said your friend wrote it?"

"What could I say? I didn't want everyone to know that I was famous."

"Oh wow. But you could have told the teacher some other story."

"Not really, you see most of what I said was true, my uncle did die a
broken man. The only person that really loved him was me; even his own
brother gave up on him. Grampa thinks the world is better off without him."

"Wow, so where did you get your writing from?"

"Don't know, I been writing since I can remember."

"I wish,, well forget it."

"What, tell me I promise I won't laugh."

"Well do you think you could kinda like let me read them."

"I have to think about that, now eat up and let's get going we have a day
to spend learning things about your life."

	Patrick ate not four, but eight waffles and had four glasses of
juice before he was full. Then going to the bathroom he washed up and
waited for Malcolm to come to the door. Walking out the door together
Patrick led Malcolm over to his side of the town. Street after street
Patrick showed Malcolm around, the dirty parks the broken cars. "This place
needed a bulldozer to run through it." Malcolm thought. Going to Patrick's
place Malcolm was shocked at the way the place looked, the house on the
outside was run down, some of the siding had fallen off and the roof needed
to be replaced, but he said nothing.

	Having met his brothers and sister at school, Malcolm said hi to
them then met Patrick's parents. Malcolm was happy to find that they were
almost like his, except for Patrick's mom, she was different, his mother
showed loved and cared for her children where Malcolm's was a snob, anyone
who didn't have money, to her was nothing but dirt and that pissed Malcolm
off big time.

	Patrick walked Malcolm back to the other side of the tracks before
dark then headed home. That night Patrick sat and stared out the window of
his bedroom. He was thinking of Malcolm trying to figure out why he wanted
to spend the day over here there was nothing for him. "Patrick phone call
for you." his mom hollered.

 "Coming mom." Running down the stairs he grabbed the phone. "Yeah this is
Patrick."

"Dude I forgot something."

"What?"

     "Well I was wondering if you wanted to meet for breakfast."



     Email me if you wish more, for those reading Lil Bros

     Next chapter will be up within a few days.

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     thewriter1@live.ca.