There they were this morning. Sitting. They have nothing but a blanket. They turn it over and over and over in their hands. It is like watching a toddler with a revered toy. Only it is their only thing. They literally and really have nothing else. There is no exaggeration here. There is nothing else.
They were there this morning. This was a new spot for them. Or, at least, a new spot for them at this time of the day. It wasn’t their usual spot. The city slowly coming to life around them but they probably did not sleep and they definitely didn’t do any coming to life .
Their life is beyond sad. There is no hope in it whatsoever. This is not living. This is existence right at the outer edge.
They have nothing . This morning they were sitting, cross legged towards the side of the road. Seemingly oblivious to the traffic that wove around them. The traffic that was conspicuously not honking at them. A silent acknowledgement that no one would ever seek to be in that situation and, furthermore, that the situation is beyond horrific.
They are stark bollock naked. Their skin is darker than nature intended because everything batters against it including nature itself; the weather, the terrain, the noise, the looks from people who pass them. Pity. Disgust Avoidance Sadness Conflict. They have nothing but their tiny, filthy blanket. Nothing. Nothing is almost an overstatement here. This person finds themselves so far away they are nearly beyond the fringe of society. Unwanted. Uncared for. Forgotten.
They rock back and forth, and back and forth. They don’t stop their incessant to and fro, but it holds a gentle rhythm that is comforting to whoever cares to notice it. They’re not crazy. They’re not anything. Their face is empty of everything. They stare beyond, or maybe they don’t. It’s almost irrelevant, they don’t have life. Their form has life. They breathe. Their body is alive . But this is not living. This is scraping the depths of the word existence.
They are waiting. They don’t know they are waiting. Long ago their capacity for self-awareness evaporated. Their life has carried nothing but hardship and pain. All they know now is their blanket and the feel of the city against their skin. But they are simply waiting, with each turn of the earth. The movement of light into darkness and darkness back into light, the never ending cycle of their existence. They are waiting to be released. That is all they know.