Here’s your 300-word story:
I was walking home from work when I saw him—a homeless man in tattered clothes, standing on the corner with two large bags of cash.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But then, I watched as he reached into one of the bags and handed a stack of bills to a group of kids passing by. Crisp, hundred-dollar bills. The kids hesitated, wide-eyed, before snatching the money and running off.
My heart pounded. Where did he get that kind of cash?
Something was off. Was he a thief? A drug dealer? A setup for some kind of scam? I reached for my phone and dialed 911.
As I waited for the cops, I kept my distance, watching. The man continued handing out money—to everyone. A mother with a crying baby. A teenage boy in ragged sneakers. An old woman digging through her purse for bus fare.
By the time the police arrived, I was second-guessing everything.
They approached cautiously. “Sir, where did you get this money?”
The man smiled, his eyes kind. “Won the lottery,” he said. “Didn’t need much myself. Figured I’d share it.”
The officers exchanged looks. One checked his ID, another radioed in. And then—confirmation. He was telling the truth.
I stood frozen, guilt creeping up my spine. I had assumed the worst.
The police let him go. He kept handing out cash. And I? I couldn’t stop thinking about how, in a world where wealth is hoarded, this man—who had nothing—gave everything.
That night, I went home and did something I’d never done before.
I took money from my savings. And I gave it away.
Because kindness, real kindness, is priceless.
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