Reflections

The stench of filth and decay seemed to come from his every pore, assaulting the senses. Blank eyes stared out from sunken sockets and dirt covered skin hung loosely on weary bones. Dressed in soiled, mismatched clothes, small treasures claimed from the garbage of others, his place in society was obvious. A reject of the world; thrown out and swept away. A useless burden left to waste away into nothingness to be forgotten only if he was ever really known. A sorry man, pathetic excuse at life; but a man none the less. And every man has a story.

From the start it looked like the chips were stacked against him. Born into what seems to be growing into a typical American family, he never knew his father. His mother referred to him as the Bastard. Everything she found wrong with her life was his fault and being subjected to mental and physical abuse became the norm for his early childhood. Then on a day before he was yet a teen, she left and did not return.

Passed around as if he was an undesired cold, he went from one foster home to another. He made every effort he could to drown out feelings of depression and thoughts of suicide with self destructive behavior. Drugs and alcohol became his quick fix to all that ailed him.

School was just a way for him to find the next party or to score some more drugs. It became his connection to the relief that he sought. Had he not witnessed someone die for overdose, he may have never made it to adulthood. Though not a complete life altering experience; he cut back enough to finish high school.

As he continued to sober up, a job in construction soon followed his graduation high school. He was a quick learner and had natural skill that let him move up from one position to another.

His life took another turn when he found her. An angel straight from heaven; a page ripped out from the book of perfection. Love was inevitable. The choir of wedding bells was soon followed by the sounds of children. Life was looking good for the first time in his gloom filled world.

Not every tale has a happy ending of course. The few years of happiness were a tease of fate. A look into a life he would never truly hold.

Lack of jobs led to him being laid off as his employer struggled to stay afloat. Unable to find decent work, he slipped back into a depression that he was not prepared to fight. Old habits die hard and it wasn’t long before he went back to drinking to hide from his problems. Soon he found himself spending more time in the bar than he did looking for work. After one night of heavy drinking, he came home to nothing.

The click of the lock and the opening of the front door echoed in the empty house. Picture covered walls now stood bare. Impressions in the carpet still marked where furniture once occupied the rooms. It was completely empty and silent. No sounds of playing children. No one asking how he was doing. No one yelling at him for being a worthless drunk. Nothing.

With no way to pay for rent, let alone buy food, he was quickly out on the street. Handouts, shelters, and the occasional dumpster became his only means to survive. What little money he was given or could find went to alcohol more than food. He was the stereotyped, homeless drunk.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, people on crowded sidewalks stepped out of his way as if his fate in life was some contagious disease looking for a way to spread; destroying the next life it encountered.

With no place to go, he would rest where he could. Sometimes curled up with his back against a wall, people occasionally threw loose change his way. Silent offerings made in selfish charity in the hopes of clearing away guilt for not offering any real help. A way to turn a cold shoulder to harsh reality and not lose sleep when they crawled into their warm beds.

No longer able to look at himself the mirror, he turned away with determination. He was disgusted with that man staring back at him. He was trash. A worthless piece of crap that deserved everything he got. Something had to been about him. He just made him so angry. He stepped away and continued his search of the abandoned warehouse. He still had stuff to do.

The suit was too small and tight on him, but he wasn’t going to be picky. He had waited a long time to have the window of opportunity needed to steal it from that shop. Dressed in it now, he felt as if he had reclaimed some of his dignity.

Everything below him looked so small from the high catwalk. The drop to the ground would be long one, but he didn’t plan on hitting the ground. Patting away some dust from his shirt, he carefully pulled the rope around his neck. Checking one last time for dust on clothes, he took a deep breath. He finally felt he was in full control of his life.