Part 8
My breath was visible upon the air of the evening.
A chill made me shiver and caused my skin to break into bumps.
A common reaction that a chill would cause.
I stepped slowly along the cracked pavement of the inner city.
No direction, no particular thought.
Just wandering through the vast numbers of street livers, drug users and hopeless delinquents.
A number of today's homeless and penniless youth members approached me offering mind-altering substances. Perhaps I might have accepted them had I been more financially able, or had my mind not been already altered by the lack of thought.
Is it really possible to be thinking about nothing? Even the thought of nothing is a thought in itself.
Without my noticing, the evening passed into night. The night grew to morning and before I was able to compose myself, the sun began to peak over the monstrous buildings that formed this ghastly city that so many seem to admire.
And still� I wandered. Passing over pavement which had been graced with my footsteps only hours before. Passing shops that I had witnessed the closure of and were starting to open to face a new day. A day that for me, had still not ended.
The chill lifted, the youth and homeless bums moved to the place that they go when the spotlight that is the sun peaks and lets the upper class dwellers know that they exist.
It is the perfect imperfect world.
A world that I was born into with no choice of who my parents were, what I was going to look like or what I was going to become.
What have I become?
Someone that people recognize, admire, hate, want, dream of, pity. A being who's personality is only assumed by glimpses of how I live. People's heads turn my way when I walk down the street. They whisper and motion towards me, thinking that I can't see them.
Myself� my best friends. We suffer through the light together. Together we enjoy it, together we hate it. We are part of each other and will always be together, if only in spirit. It wont be long until we are all fre�
"Paul? What are you doing? The funeral is in half an hour." A familiar voice spoke alerting Paul to the current surroundings. 'Just writing' he muttered to himself and placed the leather diary in a small drawer next to his bed. He readied himself and left the apartment with his current supervisor. Left for the funeral the 3 close friends whom he seemed oblivious to the loss of.
part 9