In the Patches of Gray
I sit here. A blank thought scatters across my mind. A non-existent idea trickles down into my brain. There are no little slices of wisdom floating around in my head because if there were, I would express them to you. I am alone at this hour. No humans walk the alleys this cold night. Most would never attempt it even on a warm summers evening...only a few on an occasional. Most fear what awaits them in the murky darkness. But I know what awaits them...me...
I lean against a brick wall across from a restaurant that had closed hours before. I peer through its empty windows. I imagine the city people sitting there at lunch hour with their business partners discussing the next person they should sue. I chuckle at their meaningless lives day after day. How often they waste it. If only they realized how precious life truly was. If I had one more day to live as one of them...
I linger near the decrepit wall that had been touched by many hands over the years. I, myself, had placed my hands on it numerous times. The wall had soaked up my tears, my sweat and even my blood. One of my first memories came from this wall. I guess if I thought about it I could connect to any solid object in this city, my first home run as a boy, my first carnival, my first kiss and my first kill... just memories. I could neither change them nor forget them. Some of my more painful memories cling to me like a stain.
A Street light flickers to the right of me. I see a homeless man across the road setting up his cardboard box for the long night ahead of him. Another night of unexplainable murders, drug deals, prostitution, and late night beatings against wives from their drunken husbands. It is a forever-continuing circle of anguish and havoc. But unlike the people who rotate along the circle's circumference, millions of others will sleep soundly tonight never giving thought to the horrors most will wake up to in the morning. I pity those who will wake up to this destruction but I have more pity for the people who will not wake up at all.
I step out of the alley and make my way towards an old, abandoned warehouse. It had been left empty for years now after its company folded up. I am the only one who walks through it now.
I gracefully move through the building. Crumbled pieces of paper litter the floor, dust collects among its very surface, cobwebs cling to every inch. It had once been an old shoe factory. Now all that lay left is dormant equipment and leftover shoes that were never completed.
I finger the old pieces of machinery. Dirt stains my pale hands. My lifeless blue eyes gaze over this place I call my home. It has been abandoned and so have I. I have been left without life, with out blood or any means of love. All I have left is a hunger that will never ease.
I walk over to a broken window and slide to the cold floor. I put my long, straight black hair into a loose ponytail. I tilt my head to the ground. I take my forefinger and write in the dirt, Maverick. My name stares back at me as if I owe it for the shame I have brought to it.