Creative Story: Intellegence

Jon Smith Period 8 English 12 February 12, 1997

It all started in the interesting city of New York. The smog ridden
streets were filled with people. On a quiet little street corner, there was a
small shop owned by Harvey Goldstein. Mr. Goldstein was a well-to-do merchant.
He traded in all sorts of imports, and was generally a moral man. He did not
buy goods from sweatshops nor did he ever cheat a customer. At 1:31 P.M. on
May 15, 1996, he stepped out of his shop on the Upper East Side of Manhattan to
meet a man who dealt in Asian silk screens downtown. He had been listening to
traffic radio AM 530 and, deciding that traffic was too heavy, planned to take
the subway. Goldstein was a smart man, very smart, who had built his store and
his fortune out of blood, toil, tears, and sweat. Goldstein was also an
upstanding member of the Jewish community whom everybody loved, but he never did
anything extra, out of the ordinary, for anyone but himself.
On the other side of town there was a new arrival to the city. This
man\'s name was Running Bear. He was an American Indian who had gone to New York
to seek his fortune; however, he soon fell upon hard times. He had lived a life
of monetary deprivation on the plains of Colorado, and had proceeded to New York
by Amtrak with only a dollar and a dream. Things did not go as planned, though;
he could not find a job and had taken to panhandling and sleeping in the streets.
His dreams, no doubt influenced by the fumes coming up from the sewer, were of
money. A good man who only wanted to work and make a decent living, he had gone
to the welfare office a few blocks north of Goldstein\'s shop. He was sent to
the employment office downtown, and decided to take the subway. No doubt, the
welfare officials and social workers sent him away with a sad shrug and a sigh.
They knew he was a simple man.
The two men saw each other waiting for the same train downtown.
Interestingly enough, they were the only two waiting for the subway car, as a
terrorist group had threatened to bomb a train and New Yorkers had generally
taken the threat seriously. They looked at each other briefly, sized one
another up, and got on the train. While on the train, Running Bear began
fiddling with a hatchet; tossing it up in the air over and over again in
boredom. Mr. Goldstein was staring at a quarter moving around on the ground
debating whether or not he should pick it up. Just as Mr. Goldstein reached
down to pick up the quarter, Running Bear dropped his hatched on the ground.
Both of them took at a glance at the other; just then an explosion rocked the
tracks. The Islamic militants had not been bluffing this time. Each man died
without knowing exactly what had happened to him and both of the men\'s thoughts
had been of money. Goldstein was thinking about refinancing his mortgage and
taking a loan out on the equity in his car in order to purchase new inventory
and make a solid profit. Running Bear had been thinking of how nice it would be
to find a suitcase full of hundred-dollar bills.
The men both arrived at the gates of heaven. St. Peter, following his
superiors\' orders, knew that he needed these men to fill the quotas for the new
affirmative-action plan put into place; what better than a Native American and a
Jew to place into spots that would have previously been occupied by only
Christians. St. Peter knew that these men weren\'t actually qualified for
entrance into heaven, but he devised a plan to help.
"Running Bear" he said, "you were a hard-working guy, and you never did
anything wrong. However, you never did anything right either. I think, however,
that this fault was due to the fact that you had no money. Therefore, I am
going to send you back to Earth to live for five years. There, you will have a
chance to show me how you would act without worrying about material corruption.
See, I\'m granting you one wish before you return, and I am sure you will use
this wish to remedy your former problems."
"I wish for a million dollars." said Running Bear without thinking.
"So be it." said St. Peter, and Running