Get a glimpse through a man's eyes that wants only one thing in the world. Through this short yet enduring adventure, it takes you through someone else's footsteps that could be less fortuante than you. 

Chapter 1: Home

He gazed out the bus window, remembering the newspaper article about his brother’s wedding he read earlier that week, as he watched the trees fly by. The bus trudged to his destination. His mind raced to his childhood causing his stomach to growl while his mouth salivated as the image of his mom's juicy, seasoned ham danced in his head, the mashed potatoes providing the music. The sweet smell of the ham filled his nostrils as he imagined the food in front of him with a glow around it. The bus jerked to a stop and he pulled himself up.
He brushed past the busy sidewalk and gleefully mozied his way into the store. He picked up a lunchable, his favorite, the one his mom packed him for lunch at school everyday. He smiled as his stomach growled louder.
“Hi, how are you?” The cashier had a warm smile. He grinned back toward her as she stated the amount, “$2.75”
He fidgeted as he realized the measly few coins in his pocket will not be enough, he mumbled, “C-can’t pay for that, s-sorry.” 
She wrinkled her nose and gave him a disgusted look as he lowered his head and walked out.
His eye fluttered as he stumbled towards the bus stop down the street. People squinted their eyes and turned up the noses at him. They treated him as if he was a lost pup that wouldn’t stop begging for food and like a baby brother that just wanted to be just like you, but gets to clingy and annoying. One lady gasped, a small child grew squirmish and went on the other side of her mom. He sat on the bench as he counted out the change for the bus fare. 5. 10. 15. 25. 35. 45. 50. Fifty cents is all he had left. He tried to not make eye contact with the other people. He started to turn cherry red as he saw his reflection in the bus’ doors.
As he waited for the bus, he saw the pizzeria restaurant he went to as a child with his mom and brother, John. He realized that his childhood home was only a few miles away.
The bus pulled up as he sighed. He flattened his greasy hair as he climbed up step by step, letting gravity kick in, plopped down in the first seat.
He peered out of the window, mesmerized by the blue jays that gracefully glided by. He was hypnotized by the bridge he went over, stunned by the orange reflecting off the clear water of the lake. His shoulder popped up and down quickly, a small twitch that made the gentleman next to him move a few seats up. He saw his reflection in the window, the wrinkles stood out under his eyes and his hair, started to gray. He’s only thirty-five. He wiped his cheek, smearing the dirt. He pushed back his hair again, smoothed his jacket.
The brakes squeaked as he launched himself up.  He anxiously stepped off the bus and gazed around the entrance of his old neighborhood, surveying pot holes and the cracks in the street. He reminisced over the field where he used to play ball with his brother, remembering how his face looked the last time he saw him. A decade and a half past since the last time he saw his brother. He saw his mom more than John did nowadays. He sighed and shook his head thinking about John and his family. John had a career, moved to a new state, and he only visited during holidays if he got the time off of work. John was always their dad’s favorite. Since John is never around anymore, that left a chance open.
He dragged his feet along the broken up sidewalk, kicking the weeds that grew in the cracks. The gloomy houses led a path to this light blue house that he used to call home. The house next door changed a great deal since last time he was here. It was now a bright sunny yellow, little pink and purple roses popped out of the flower bed up front. The two houses looked the sky at the time of day when the sun is the most highest. He could smell the roses scent as the wind blew.  
He breathed in as he approached the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer. He stepped back. Took a look at the number.
50. That was the right address as he remembered. He stepped forward and rang the doorbell.
he pressed the doorbell and waited to hear the bell sing through the little house.
A young female answered timidly,  “Hello?”
His voice rose as he reached into his pocket and lunged himself forward. “Who are you?”
The woman immediately veered towards the inside and attempted to close the door, screaming. “He’s back! Call the police...”

Chapter Notes:

This is a flash fiction, it can be a beginning of a novel if I pursue it.