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Prolific Writer
Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Newfoundland, Canada
Posts: 204
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Marsa
When you are walking down the side of a street, looking all around you for some sign of life you had lost, do you realize the echoes around you? If you are a man with sufficient apoplexy you are more than capable of being stopped by no one, do not deny. Though if I was a man with sufficient apoplexy I’d say I would not bother looking at those around me, in case they are too slow or too fast, as I might lash out. I’m not very seriously enraged by these wondrous people who are warm and cautious, dull and boring, there see that little black girl holding onto a coloring book with her woollen captains hat? — Haha, whirls my mind.
I’m heading in the direction of a very famous institution, from what I hear my plethora of sweet exultation finds no better place to spend its days. I am a man, and as brutish a thing, as horrible a monstrosity there ever was. I know it’s mid autumn and cold out but I wear a worn out, over printed Misfits sweater which hangs loosely below my waist. I dislike its taste, but it keeps me warm. My face if I ever asked anyone was more metal than flesh. When my beard grows long and thick I trim it, but it never goes away. The few scars that aren’t covered by hair attach my nose and eyes by means of an unhealthy tissue. My own feelings are lost to a subtler outlook on life, as I’m very far behind, knowing others there are few instances where I take the initiative to try and consider them.
I take my life very casually; pausing on occasion to stare at something I cannot comprehend, while waiting ignorantly with outstretched hands for it to give me something. At one point I would glare, or yell, or beg pleadingly until with distress or alarm or impatience they gave me something I really did not need, which usually ended up hurting.
There was at one point in my career where I had seen a girl run down the street, her hand propped out slightly to support her rapid pace-- crying. I was used to crying at night, and by all means the rain was as much a thief to me as it was a burden to this girl. It was cold, and raining out; stopping mid sentence in my paperback, I looked out from the hole in my umbrella catching a droplet on my nose. I wanted to find out whom the loudening shluck slurpthe sound belonged to. “I wish people learned how to walk normally, and not rush so much,” I thought. The suction sound of shoes accompanied by the hard clicking of high heels drowned out the rains quiet number on the pavement, and drew my attention.
She had no coat on; her red dyed hair soaked to her head was a division of uncontrolled rivulets. With her passing, one chanced stream happened to bounce missing my domed shield, and deposited itself onto my paperback, a small red drop. I was very angry at this drop, but her demeanour, though intruding upon my self, slid off my person. I was not in the mood to argue or get angry. While this person passed by I grabbed onto the wall that sheltered me from the rain and pulled my self out a little to get a better look at this person who above everything else in my life seemed to pull me, as if the red drop was the hook, and she the line.
Leaving almost all my things where they were, I followed after this person. I had my umbrella with me folded in. My worn out sneakers didn’t make much noise and I avoided many of the major puddles as I tracked her as she was hurrying very much in a straight line; if sometimes going up a street or down a street. I caught up to her after cautiously keeping distance. She went inside another little crevice of a building; she was shivering as I walked up to her. She noticed me as soon as I entered the crevice entrance; she seemed very nervous. I didn’t really have much of a reason for following her other than instinct. Before going up to her I questioned my decision and wondered what in my diluted mind was I doing.
She looked at me timidly. I started talking to her, telling her first that I had seen her pass by. She didn’t recall seeing me, as I assumed. She had her arms crossed as she was very cold, and her white shirt didn’t really hide much. I didn’t know what to say after telling her I saw her pass by, until I hit this emotion inside me. It was sincerity I think, and something unfamiliar to me. I said to her “are you alright? Why don’t you have something warmer on? It’s raining heavily” Then I paused and said “did something happen?”
She was more enthralled by my face than my questions, as most people are; she took a few moments to look around the corner and then said in some strange accent, “I’m freezing”, which sounded more like, ‘imee freizeng’. I asked her if something happened in a little more worried tone. She sank down into the corner and just hugged herself; the dye from her hair had coloured her neck. Well I was devoid of options and fed up and impatient with her lack of talking to me, so I took off my sweater and handed it to her. I can only have so much patience with people who I think, think lowly of me. After taking the sweater she smiled and put it on, much to my emotional comfort. The reaction I got was not something I readily expected. She took out a tiny bag, which I didn’t see on her at all, and handed me a tiny parcel, it was very wet but I just took it in my hands. Before I got a chance to utter “what’s this?” she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, muffling my words. In this confusion she reached down and took my umbrella without my noticing, and ran off. I was a little stunned at the moment to realize that dextrous move but my eyes followed her as she began running up the road again. I took it by her pace she didn’t want me to follow, but again uncharacteristic of me I followed her figure with my eyes until she was no more a person but a silhouette in the rain. I started to yell out to her when my vision began to fail me but it was just another echo.
Walking back to my niche, all my things were again wet, and someone passing by must of drank my flask of rum, normally I would be angry at something like that, but I had something really important on my mind, and would deal with that later. For the moment I was contemplating more than I usually do, thinking more than I would in a week. I sat down and for the first time thought about doing something. “What inspiration I have received”, I thought as I coughed from the cold. I took up the wet blanket I used as a rug and pillow and ringed it out. Wrapping myself in it I began thinking of a better life. As for the parcel, when opened, was quite possibly the most influential piece of writing I’ve ever read.
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No thing happens at random but all things as a result of a reason and by necessity.
(Aetius 1.25.4=67B2)
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