old ones
Hero
The office had just been redecorated and smelled of new handmade furniture. William Sunderland sat behind his new beautiful desk, lighting his Cuban Cigar as the sunrays filled the room with light and warmth. He looked down and saw this week's edition of The Economic Times. With a tickling sensation of hope, he reached for the paper and turned to the pages covering the stock market. Success! His company's latest, brave, marketing had been a complete and total success. They were up two points. The stock had nearly doubled its worth during the last six months and it was all thanks to William, who assumed that, even though he had just been promoted, he would soon move up yet another notch in the hierarchy. A big smile appeared on the man's face showing his perfectly bleached teeth. With a small dance he concluded the celebration and decided to go home and take a nice long bath in his jacuzzi.
Little Mambutu Ningw'e was running. Finally, a glimpse of hope at the end of the dark, unloving tunnel. A way out of the eternal nightmare. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him to get to his home, the Luganda orphanage, as soon as possible. The beggars and prostitutes at the side of the road looked at him as if though they had never seen a happy child before, but then again, Mambutu thought, they probably never had. Mambutu began to fantisize about the reactions of his comrades in the orphanage when he would tell them of the Americans that had come and taken pictures of him. They had said that they were going to send the pictures to America and that the Amercians would donate money to their orphanage. He thought them a bit odd when they insisted that he should be covered in flies during the photo-shoot but 10 dollars was 10 dollars.
William opened the big wooden door to his huge office and stepped out. He took one last glance at his beautifully carved desk and at the ivory pencil holder that he had got from one of his countless visits abroad. The secretary, a young blonde woman, recieved a small smack on her buttocks before William left the company headquarters. Mr Sunderland proceeded to the V.I.P parking lot and sat down in his brand new Mercedes-Benz prototype and drove the two miles to his four-story villa. As he entered through the mansion's main door he saw something lying on the floor. A brochure covered with small starving, it seemed, negroes. Normally Mr Sunderland would never interfere with such things but he was in a good mood today. He picked it up and read it.
Three older boys were standing a couple of yards ahead of him. Despite Mambutu's desperate attempts to hide the 10-dollar bill, they were staring at him with hunger in their eyes. The sort of hunger you see in a starving dog's eyes just before feeding time. They walked towards him with small steps. Mambutu tried to run, but they were faster.
William decided that he could pay the monthly donation of five dollars to save the god forsaken people in Angola. He felt as though his life had found meaning. To think that William, a mere business executive could affect the lives of those in need. He was proud.
Mambutu Ningw'e was lying in a pool of his own blood and the flies had begun their feasting.
'I am a hero', Will thought to himself.
Three days later the maid threw away the signed brochure which had never been posted.
The office had just been redecorated and smelled of new handmade furniture. William Sunderland sat behind his new beautiful desk, lighting his Cuban Cigar as the sunrays filled the room with light and warmth. He looked down and saw this week's edition of The Economic Times. With a tickling sensation of hope, he reached for the paper and turned to the pages covering the stock market. Success! His company's latest, brave, marketing had been a complete and total success. They were up two points. The stock had nearly doubled its worth during the last six months and it was all thanks to William, who assumed that, even though he had just been promoted, he would soon move up yet another notch in the hierarchy. A big smile appeared on the man's face showing his perfectly bleached teeth. With a small dance he concluded the celebration and decided to go home and take a nice long bath in his jacuzzi.
Little Mambutu Ningw'e was running. Finally, a glimpse of hope at the end of the dark, unloving tunnel. A way out of the eternal nightmare. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him to get to his home, the Luganda orphanage, as soon as possible. The beggars and prostitutes at the side of the road looked at him as if though they had never seen a happy child before, but then again, Mambutu thought, they probably never had. Mambutu began to fantisize about the reactions of his comrades in the orphanage when he would tell them of the Americans that had come and taken pictures of him. They had said that they were going to send the pictures to America and that the Amercians would donate money to their orphanage. He thought them a bit odd when they insisted that he should be covered in flies during the photo-shoot but 10 dollars was 10 dollars.
William opened the big wooden door to his huge office and stepped out. He took one last glance at his beautifully carved desk and at the ivory pencil holder that he had got from one of his countless visits abroad. The secretary, a young blonde woman, recieved a small smack on her buttocks before William left the company headquarters. Mr Sunderland proceeded to the V.I.P parking lot and sat down in his brand new Mercedes-Benz prototype and drove the two miles to his four-story villa. As he entered through the mansion's main door he saw something lying on the floor. A brochure covered with small starving, it seemed, negroes. Normally Mr Sunderland would never interfere with such things but he was in a good mood today. He picked it up and read it.
Three older boys were standing a couple of yards ahead of him. Despite Mambutu's desperate attempts to hide the 10-dollar bill, they were staring at him with hunger in their eyes. The sort of hunger you see in a starving dog's eyes just before feeding time. They walked towards him with small steps. Mambutu tried to run, but they were faster.
William decided that he could pay the monthly donation of five dollars to save the god forsaken people in Angola. He felt as though his life had found meaning. To think that William, a mere business executive could affect the lives of those in need. He was proud.
Mambutu Ningw'e was lying in a pool of his own blood and the flies had begun their feasting.
'I am a hero', Will thought to himself.
Three days later the maid threw away the signed brochure which had never been posted.
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