Short Story: No Return

I wrote this short story mostly just for the exercise of sitting down and writing a complete story in one day. I couldn’t avoid something related to this pandemic. Consider young people who don’t coping with staying home:


No Return


Stan sat on his bed, back against the wall, arms pounding down at the bed. He wanted to yell, but that would bring his mother to sit on the bed with him and start another lecture.

“You know this is just how it has to be, Stan. If you go out, you’ll just get sent back in. It’s the only way to make sure this virus stops spreading and to make sure Dad doesn’t get it. You know he’ll die if it hits his lungs. Everyone is staying inside, You aren’t the only one, you know. You have a roof over your head, we have lots of food, you have internet and video games. It could be so much worse. You just have to find a way to accept it. Get on the exercise bike, burn off some of that excess energy.”

She had thrown some version of this lecture at him every day, as if it would change how he felt if she said it often enough. It wasn’t working. He just felt more frantic. He had to move! All he wanted to do was run and run and never stop.

He got up from the bed, put on a baggy sweatshirt with large pockets, and the cargo pants he rarely wore. He went down to the kitchen. His mom was intently looking at her computer, headset in. He grabbed food, filling his pockets. He filled his water bottle, and slid it into a pocket on the side away from her.

He walked past her to the front door, grabbed his coat, hat and shoes and opened the door before she had a chance to get to him. By the time he was two doors down and stopped to put his shoes on, she was standing in the open door.

“I’ll be back!” he shouted. “Don’t worry, I’ll be safe.”

“No, you won’t be back,” she returned, and shut the door.

He stood there a moment. That made no sense. She must not believe him.

The sidewalk stretching out from their house beckoned to him. It had been a month since he was outside. Other people went outside, he’d seen them walk by. But his mom had refused to let him outside, for fear of the virus coming in. None of them went outside except to grab groceries and other items that had been delivered. He had read enough about this virus. If he didn’t touch anything and didn’t get near to another person, he would be fine.

The fresh air was amazing. The expanse of sky above him filled him with awe. He shook his head. This was crazy! It used to be so normal.

He started running, but his water bottle bounced against his leg. He pulled it out to keep in his hand, and continued. He was a few blocks away from home when he had to stop to catch his breath. He hadn’t moved like this in a month! He was never a long distance runner, but he could always pull off a kilometre with ease. He settled into a walk.



The sun was starting to set when he returned to his house. He turned the door knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. His mom usually kept the door locked, so he wasn’t surprised. He knocked quietly, then stood back a bit so she could look through the peephole and see it was him. He tried again, knocking louder. Maybe she had her headset in. Still no response. He knocked as loud as he could. Still nothing.

He walked over to the front window to peer inside. His mom was standing there, her hands on her hips, like she’d been waiting for him. He gestured to her to let him in. She just stood there, shaking her head and then stopping to say “No.” He could just barely hear her through the window, but there was no mistaking the message. She really wasn’t going to let him in!

“But all I did was walk all day! I didn’t even sit down anywhere. I’m tired and hungry. I need to be home!” He pleaded to her, even though he doubted she could hear him. He had to try.

She shook her head one more time, then reached up to close the blind. He was completely shut out.

He sat on the step to text her. She sent back, “no”. He kept trying, pleading, but all she said was “No” until she just stopped replying. How could she do that to her own son?

He sat three, on the front step, and despite his grown-up age of 22, he cried. He was so tired, and had no clue what to do.

When his tears were cried out, he wiped his face on his shirt and stood up to look at the house. A backpack was on the porch. His mom must have set it out there for him while he was crying. Under it was a sheet of paper.

He took the paper. It was still just light enough to read it. “I’m sorry, Stan. The risk is too great. I love you so much, but you are an adult and you chose to leave. You will have to find your own way. I packed some stuff for you. I’m sure you’ll find a way to be okay. Stay safe!”

He didn’t feel sure at all. He crumpled the paper into a ball, threw it at the ground, then picked it up and stuffed it into a pocket.

He would have to take his chances and knock on some friends’ doors. Surely someone would take him in.



Stan was trembling with exhaustion by 10 o’clock. He had knocked on doors, starting close to home and ending up just now at the door of his friend Joe who lived with his girlfriend. He was the farthest away, but with no parents around, Stan had felt so hopeful knocking on his door. Joe shook his head from behind the safety of his screen door, “I can’t let anyone in. Sorry,” and closed the door. No one would let him in.

He had walked all day and all evening, but no one had stopped him. A few people had smiled hello, mostly those out walking dogs. He had to lie down somewhere. He wondered what other people did. The city was full of homeless people, but he hardly ever saw them.

There was nothing to do but keep walking and look for somewhere to rest. He saw a small park. It had some of those large evergreen trees whose branches went all the way down to the ground. That would have to do.

He stopped to check what was in his backpack, using the light from his phone. His mom had clearly put a lot of thought into packing it. There was an emergency kit, a blanket, an extra set of clothing, toiletries, and some food. He grabbed the blanket, shoved everything else back in, and crawled under the branches of a tree.

Trembling with exhaustion, he lay there crying. Then he started shivering. The blanket felt like nothing, lying outside on the cold ground, even with his coat on. But soon his exhaustion won over, and he was asleep.



Three days later Stan was still wandering around, spending his days walking and his nights shivering under a tree or bush. He was exhausted and felt filthy. His food was gone, and his belly grumbled. He had a new appreciation for what it was like to be homeless!

It was starting to get dark. He would have to find a place to spend the night again. He groaned out loud, but there was no one to pay attention. A lecture from his mom would be very welcome right now.

He looked around, then realized the darkness came from heavy clouds. He had lost all sense of time, and his phone battery had died long ago.

He had no idea what to do! He couldn’t sleep in the rain. He couldn’t even walk around in the rain. He would be drenched and cold and all his stuff would be soaked. He didn’t have any rain protection.

He would have to find a place with a roof, even if it meant he couldn’t hide properly. He headed toward the downtown core. As he walked, he spied a bus shelter. He would be dry there, and even have a place to sit.

The bus shelter was well lit by a street light. There was no privacy here. He shrugged, and sat down on the little bench just as the first raindrops started to fall. They were huge drops, and soon a river of water was running down the street. The steady beat of the rain lulled him to sleep.



“Hey!” a voice yelled. Stan straightened his stiff body and sat up. A police officer stood in the rain, yelling at him. “What are you doing here? This isn’t a bedroom! Get yourself home!”

Stan shook his head. “I’ve nowhere to go. I’m sorry. I just wanted to stay dry.”

“If you have nowhere to go, you have to come with me. I have a place for you. Wait a minute.”

The officer reached into her car. She came back with a bag on the end of a stick. “Put this mask on. Then get in the car.”

She opened the back door, then stood aside as he got into the car. She closed the door, then got into the car. She put a mask on herself and got the car moving.

“I’m taking you to a shelter. They will have a bed for you, and you’ll get fed. As long as you follow the rules, stay at least 6 ft away from everyone else, you’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” Stan said. He didn’t know what else to say. It would be good to be dry and to eat, but he didn’t know what it would be like to be in a shelter.



“How long have you been living on the streets?” asked the man at the shelter, who introduced himself as Bruce.

“Three days. But it feels like forever.” Stan explained what happened.

“You really messed up, huh? It’s a rough time to be out on your own. There is no way you can go back home now, unless you can stay completely separate from everyone. This virus is a strange thing, and it seems to spread in ways we don’t understand. It’s a huge problem, because you have just been given our last bed. Every day there are more people who lose their homes or got kicked out. We don’t have a place for everyone.”

“Shit!” Stan shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I really messed things up. I couldn’t stand being inside any more, but if I had known this would happen, I would have found a way to cope. If there was a way I could undo this, or do something to make up for it, I would.”

Bruce looked him in the eye, nodding. “I believe you, man. It doesn’t help in the moment, but I hope some kind of solution appears for you.”

They talked some more. Bruce had a long list of questions for him, including some that were clearly intended to find out how likely it was that he might have caught the virus. Stan figured he was still pretty safe. He had sat in public places, like that bench in the bus shelter, but otherwise he kept to himself for the three days.

Bruce tossed a package containing a mask toward him. He explained how to use it safely so that it could be re-used.

“I’ll show you where you can go to have a shower. Later you’ll be called for your supper, and shown the way. Remember to always keep your distance. Other than that, just stay here on your bed for now.”

“Thank you so much!” said Stan.

Returning from his shower, feeling so much better for being clean, he laid himself down on the bed. He was exhausted, but didn’t want to sleep. He had a lot to think about, and wanted to be awake for supper. He was so hungry his stomach was clenching in pain.



He woke to someone calling his name, roused from such a deep sleep he couldn’t remember where he was. Looking around at the other beds spread across the large room, all two metres apart, he was jolted into wakefulness.

“It’s your turn for breakfast,” said the person at the end.

Stan sat up abruptly. “I’m so hungry!” he exclaimed, clutching his stomach. “I must have slept through supper, and I was so hungry then!”

The person waited while he put his shoes on, and then led him to the eating area. He pointed to a chair at the end of the table. “When you’ve eaten, go back to your bed. Others need to eat as well, and we can only serve a few at a time. If you haven’t eaten in a while, go slow. You want your stomach to have a chance to absorb it.”

Stan hungrily filled his mouth, not even noticing what the food was. “Go easy, man,” the man reminded him as he walked away.

Stan forced himself to slow down, reminding himself that the food would be more help if he enjoyed it. As he did, he looked around. The large room could only serve six people at a time, because each table only had two chairs, one at each end. When someone left, the table and chair had to be disinfected before the next person came.

The enormity of the situation struck him then. Anyone who didn’t have a home of their own needed to be housed like this. He thought of all the work that went into it. The constant cooking and cleaning. He felt like such a spoiled brat, sitting here eating a free meal when he could have held it together and stayed home.



He had been lying back on his bed, just thinking about everything, wondering if it were possible to charge his phone, wondering how his mom and dad were doing, when he saw Bruce walk over toward his bed.

He stopped at a distance. “Hey, Stan, I’d like to talk to you. Grab your stuff and follow me.”

Stan carefully re-applied his mask, grabbed his backpack and outer clothes, and followed him. Bruce brought him into a room. “Have a seat,” he motioned to one of two chairs.

“I have a proposal for you. I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I can tell you are honest and wish things were different. The thing is, we need help here. We have a separate room for people like yourself who can both live and work here. If you want a chance to turn things around and make the best of this, you can sign a contract that you will work for us and keep yourself as safe as possible and we will assign you a bed and the freedom to do things like take showers and charge a cellphone. But let me warn you that you will be watched closely and if there is any hint that you aren’t as reliable as I think you are, you will be out of here.”

“Oh, that is just what I want!” exclaimed Stan. “I would like the chance to do something helpful, to give back for the help I’ve been given. Thank you! You won’t regret it.”

They talked over the details and signed the papers. Stan was now an employee.



Stan sat on his bed, back against the wall. He shared this room with four other people, each in their own corner, but right now he was the only one in the room. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He never would have imagined he would enjoy disinfecting and cleaning or delivering meals, but he was happy. His life had meaning, and he had been given a chance to make a difference. He was grateful.

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