A story about a man who couldn't handle the impacts of the Great Depression. Based off of the novel, The Grapes of Wrath written by John Steinbeck.

I look up to see the last ray of sunlight fall behind the grey clouds, that tumble over one another as if in a constant competition to see who can stay on top the longest. The looming shadow over my form and the rest of the city makes the mood grow somber just like the sad melodies that whisper in the breeze. The bundle of clouds leave the smell of fresh rain in it's wake, that give the pedestrians below something to look forward to as they pull out their matching umbrellas, already anticipating the day’s forecast. But where there are no umbrellas, there are clusters of families and the loud, echoing sound of tin cans clinking. The hollowed out cylinders are in a search for spare change, while I notice some of the mothers waiting in the lines at the local soup kitchens, and some of the fathers waiting in lines for a job to be tossed their way, all with no choice and all with no matching umbrellas. And as the minutes pass by a delicate sprinkle starts to dance its way down onto New York City.
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         I stand on a ledge, where I can feel a steady breeze of air pushing against my back, trying to encourage me to go on while my rebellious thoughts pressure me to stop. I can feel the water drops soak into my hair and cling onto my eyelashes as I blink away the sting of fresh water. I am dressed to the nines in a soft, cotton undershirt that lays beneath my stiff, black business suit, that accompanies an undone bow tie that lightly sways with the wind, while my leather briefcase is firmly held in my pudgy hand; which reminds me of a time when I could actually afford this kind of attire. There is a slight itch on my wrist that will not leave me in peace, since I recently sold my gold-plated watch to pay off last month’s water bill, and my wedding ring for a heater that does its best to protect my children from the harsh winter; things are getting worse and there is nothing I can do.

         My previous job as an accountant, although very tasking, brought in a decent amount of money for my family of five, as it does for most of the families that live in the big cities. But once the bills start to pile up month after month, it leaves no room for arguments as our valuables got sold for cash. The nice, Sunday clothes can go for $5. The baby's wooden crib for $10. The radio for another $5. While the loss of my job only adds to my problems and woes, I knew that it was not my employer’s fault, it was not my fault, or the company’s fault, most of the blame is on the stocks that everyone buys from the banks?the fault of greed.
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         “You can’t fire me, John. I need this job to feed my missus and kids,” I had said when he called me into his office to receive the foreboding news. “You can’t just leave us with nothin’.” I became more desperate as the drops of sweat and fear trickled down my back.

          My boss looked at me with sympathy and a grimace. “Now there Alec, it’s nothin’ personal, but we’ve been runnin’ out of funds to be keepin' up with most of the staff.”  Too many men were faced with the same fate, and I knew I would not be the last sore fellow to go home jobless. I knew that it could not be helped, but if it were up to me, everyone would keep their job and the economy would not be in such a horrible state.
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         It all started on October 19th when the worldwide announcement of the stock market crashing had everyone shocked to their core and shaking in fear of what was to happen next. Thousands upon thousands of dollars and investments are lost to inflation each day, and soon enough, the banks will be on the verge of being toppled over by angry men and women, with all of their locked vaults empty of every last penny, unable to give anything to the resentful crowds. The banks are only the start of the catastrophe, next will be businesses like John’s that are bounded into bankruptcy, and then it soon will become the nation as a whole.

         No one is left with a fighting chance. No one has a steady job or food. Everyone is left with nothing. Everyone is searching for more.
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          I stand on the ledge of the building looking out at my broken city, with rain pouring onto the matching umbrellas, as they move up and down the sidewalks, like fish swimming upstream in a river. I stare out at the families that have their tin cans filled to the brim with fresh water to drink from, while the little children play in the puddles. The wind became more forceful, more punishing on my back, causing me to look away from all the commotion below. I have doubt. I am scared. I know I am a coward, but I will do it anyway.
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          I jump.
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