The Gap

The Gap

The restaurant filled with roars of laughter. It was nationally recognized as a five star restaurant. The royal, blood red carpet, with rows of diamonds at each end, led to the restaurant as if Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding was all over again.
The hunched figure crawled through the hard, uneven concrete surface, blood covered on the soles of his feet after the constant visit upon the same uneven surface. The blood left a royal, red trail that stalked him to his feed. The beggar’s clothes, if you can even call them that, are stained with dirt and blood so it is impossible to tell what the original colour was. The old stray ran a shaky hand down his face. The whiskers pricked. His face was like the surface of the moon, uneven and rocky. When was the last time he shaved? He could not remember.
He glanced up at the fancy restaurant which was so close to him, but untouchable. The waiter served its first main course meal to its customer. The delicate 300g rib eye steak cooked medium rare. Mushroom sauce encircled the circumference of the expensive piece of meat. As the fork politely and gently stabbed the meat, the raw redness of the inner meat puffed outwards leaving red juice dripping unwillingly to blend with the sauce. It was prepared perfectly.
Later that evening, the waiter scurried out the back door. He chucks a piece of half eaten steak into the rubbish bin; unaware that the famished stray rummages through it. His droopy eyes glowed at the sight of what was to become, his prize without hesitation. Fleas swarmed around the meat. He did not look up. Instead, a low threatening growl did the job; as he spat verbal venom from his mouth as a sign of warning. But it was not the meat they were attracted to, it was him. The filthy scent was like a delicacy to the fleas not the meat.
He clutched the meat with his paw-like hands. Black prints were stamped on the meat with each mouthful. As his meal concluded, he carefully licked every paw to recall the taste of the steak, reluctant to believe that the meal was over.
The beggar staggered away from the rubbish bin. His only meal of the day had just come to an end. Painfully, he dragged his body across the hard, uneven surface. It was late in the night, the air was cold, and the moon was bright. As each breath he puffed out, steam leaked gently towards the cool starless night. The beggar rested, shivering not because he was old but because of the cold, just outside the five star restaurant. He grasped a piece of newspaper dated back three years ago and covered his weak, fragile body. He slept.
The owner of the five star restaurant switches off the final set of lights as he gets ready to head home. With the close sign turned, the owner scurried out. As he walks out, he noticed the same old beggar outside the restaurant. Staring at the headlines of the newspaper the beggar covered himself with, his memories rewind. The world really has changed. “BILLIONARE TO BEGGAR WITH A GAMBLE.”