It was a dusty winter morning. The dust always triggered the sinus headache I’d been suffering from for over a year, but my work didn’t care, I needed to get out anyway. It was a special day: I was supposed to get a promotion. I dressed wearing the nicest white shirt I had, combined with black trousers and a dark blue overcoat.
So I was on the streets, probably thinking about the awkward moments with my colleagues, or the time I disappointed my neighbour. Situations made me quiet; talking to myself was the only way for me to get an emotional breath.
Moments of clarity reminded me of the dust and my headache. A biting wind was blowing — it was constantly distracting me from my thoughts. A few moments later, my thoughts were frozen and I felt numb while my ears were up listening to every bit of noise on the almost empty street, and my eyes were looking straight with blurry vision — I realized I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
I would have been the only one on the road if it were not for the two beggars who were right in front of me. One was a man of around 30. Not minding anyone, nothing was on his money tray but he didn’t seem to be bothered.
He was wearing an oversized shirt and worn-out formal trousers, they made him look respectable. His face was dirty and lacked emotions. Every detail of his appearance let his pain speak out loud.
I felt his pain, but that quickly got dislodged by the sight of a girl whom I could see without needing to move my eyes. I could look directly at her eyes, they were filled with hope and ambition, which was to be expected cause she should be around 10. Every 10-year-old I’ve seen had that look in their eyes. Her mother was off to the corner, she was counting the few coins they got while the girl ventured to look for some more. She was desperate: begging passersby for a rupee or two just to get rejected.
The man was running in the same race a few short years back. He had wrinkles but that didn’t rob him of his 30-year-old way of sitting. He had well passed the emotional quotient of anyone of his age. He didn’t want to be another person who had the money to live in a place where rain couldn’t make him wet.
The girl dreams with her open eyes, the man enjoys dreamless sleep. The girl runs, the man doesn’t walk. The girl sleeps tired of the day’s running, the man doesn’t have anything to sleep for. Else is the same.
I was in shivers because of the wind, the girl was shivering too. She was seeking some shelter at the nearby shops for the upcoming rain, evidenced by the clouds’ takeover of the sky. Her actions mirrored my discomfort.
The man was unshaken. There seemed to be a silhouette of an umbrella, but I couldn’t be sure. He didn’t acknowledge its existence till I was there. I needed to make it to the office before the rain started.
I was thinking about him on the way. His expressionless face, made me forget his sufferings. It got me jealous of a homeless person who probably wouldn’t get lunch because of the rain. The calmness on his face signified the acceptance of the world. He was not waiting for tomorrow, he was ready to end today.
His face made me feel better.
Sounds like you're on the right track. Good writing is getting constant feedback and building a following.
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I enjoyed the read. Keep up the good work. Have you ever heard of Scribophile? My reason for asking is that when I wrote my travelogue 'Of Pisco and Peru' I went on Scribophile and had people critique (and critique and critique...lol) all of my chapters. For me, it was a good experience as far as helping me polish my writing.
Keep up the writing!
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