I live in the old part of town.
Like specters, lost, insensible beings shamble through these streets. No god animates their souls and no laws govern their movements. They are ruled only by chronic need. Their stupor is punctured only by terror and belligerence.
In the warm weather, they congregate against an imposing background of brick warehouses. In the winter, they are less conspicuous. In groups of twos and threes, they find shelter in doorways and alcoves. Here they expire, unnoticed and unlamented.
Their deaths are ascribed to weather or disease; polite society is maligned for its indifference.
In truth, I believe they die of an unrelenting despair. Before they are overtaken by disease, weather or poverty, they are brought low by a deep and abiding despair. Like infection, despair is transmitted from being to being.
Like a parasite, it leaves the body alive, but irrevocably damaged.
Author notes
Another english assignment? Yes it is! =D
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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A snap shot of the low points in life. Although very short, that's sometimes all the story that needs to be told. Very nicely written.
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