What do you think of this short story?

THIS IS NOT MY WORK - This is taken from the website of one of my favorite indepentent writing publications called Barrelhouse. I really liked this one though, and I wanted to share it to see if it does anything for anyone lese. Here it is, its the equivalent of a few pages long, so if you take the time to read it please share your take. Its called %26quot;Red%26quot;, written by a man called Mike Landweber.



RED



You saw him first. Of course you did. Back then, when you were six, you spent most of your time at the window looking down on the street. What else were you going to do when Mama fought with Johnny? The apartment was not that big. It still isn’t. But your room was yours.



They all stopped at the light. It was red, after all. It was always red, and it always had been, at least as long as you’d been alive. Mama told you once when you asked that there used to be a fire station next door and they could turn the light red and green whenever they wanted so they could get out and go fight the fires. That explained why there was a stoplight in the middle of the street even through there was no intersection. You liked that idea – being able to make the light go green or red at will.



When the firemen abandoned the firehouse, someone forgot to turn the light off. It’s been on red ever since. It never turns green. It’ll be like that forever. They tore down the old firehouse. That also happened before you were born. And just like that, in a pile of rubble and dust, the magic switch disappeared. Now, no one knows how to change the light from red to green. They put an apartment building up where the firehouse used to be, three stories, rust brown and cracked, just like yours and all the ones across the street and every other building on this block.



This forgotten block. Not much happens on this block. Not when you were young, not now. So whoever is in charge of broken stoplights doesn’t really care about this red light. No one is coming to fix it or tear it down. The police don’t patrol this street either. No crime here. The people who live here, like your Mama, know the kids who sell the drugs and join the gangs and they don’t let them on this block. All in all, it’s a good block, even if nothing ever happens here and no one ever leaves.



The man pulled up and stopped at the red light. You liked his car, cherry red and sporty. At first you thought it was a convertible, but it wasn’t. Not many people came to your block who didn’t live there or who didn’t know people who lived there, but sometimes other people got lost. He was one of those, you knew that right away. The way he slowed for the light – the way he believed in it.



No one who lives here stops for the red light.



He waited and waited and waited. You watched and watched and watched.



You knew right then, before anyone else had figured it out, that he wasn’t going to move until the light turned green. You don’t know how you knew, but some things you just know.



Mr. Carter approached the car first. It had been there for over an hour by then. You opened your window to hear a little better. Sound traveled smoothly through the dead air of your block. He tapped on the window.



“That light ain’t gonna change. Get goin’”



The man in the car ignored him. At least that’s what Mr. Carter thought. But you knew that he was just focused on that light, on the red. Mr. Carter pounded harder on the window and then on the roof of the car. But he gave up when he got no response and went back inside. Mr. Carter was the super in three-twenty-two, probably still is, and he kept up with the talk shows all day. Probably only came outside because it was a commercial and that’s when he looks out the window.



Mr. Carter’s pounding gave some of the boys the idea. Boys that would be selling drugs if they lived on another block. Six of them surrounded the car and started drumming on it. Not a bad rhythm. Something that made you want to tap your foot along with. You wanted to play with the boys, but you were expected to play with the girls, so usually you just played alone. The boys went on pounding for a long time until Gladys who lived in the basement next door stormed out and shooed them away.



The man didn’t move. He waited. And everyone left him alone.



You stayed at your window late into the night. Mama and Johnny didn’t know you were awake. As long as you were in your room, they let you be. Especially Johnny. By that time, he’d been living with Mama for awhile, and he didn’t do much more around you than fix you with that look that said he wasn’t your Daddy.



Around three in the morning, you went into the kitchen and got a couple of slices of cold pizza and a napkin and a Coke. You left the front door open behind you and tiptoed down the stairs and out into the street. You had never been outside of the building this late. It felt good. The world seemed bigger than in the daylight and you seemed smaller and that was OK.



The man had fallen aslWhat do you think of this short story?interesting....kind of strange, but still really cool. I like how the author used the word 'you'. i don't know why, and i kind of liked this story.



like i said...interesting.