Despair
“Huh?”
“Come on,
up!”
“Okay,
okay, give us a sec’,” he said, wiping sleep from his eye.
“I’ve told
you before you can’t sleep here. If I catch you again I’ll arrest you.
Understand?”
He pulled
himself up into a sitting position and nodded. He glanced up quickly at the
uniformed police officer and looked away quickly, unwilling to make
eye-contact. It was not just the uniform, he rarely made eye-contact with
anyone anymore.
“This is a
public park not a doss house, how do you think it looks to a young mother with
little kiddies coming for a play in the park, only to find you sprawled all
over a bench?”
“Sorry,” he
mumbled an apology.
“Look at the state of you, I could smell your stink before I saw you.”
“Sorry.”
“Five minutes… if you’re still here when I get back I’ll have your sorry arse before a judge.”
He nodded
once, but the policeman had already turned on his heel and moved on. His head
throbbed, his throat was parched, his stomach felt queasy. It was a warm
summers day and yet, despite wearing a heavy winter coat, he shivered from the
cold. He brought a hand up to his temple, it came away sticky with blood. How
had that happened? he wondered. A fuzzy image came to mind of being heckled and
pushed around by a gang of faceless youths, dressed in hoodies and tracksuits.
He no
longer flinched with shame when young mothers pulled their children out of his
way. It hurt at first, cutting him to his very core, especially the little
ones, the fear and disgust in their eyes. Blocking out the memories was the
first thing he had to do, the booze helped with that.
“Keep
walking, you’re scaring the kiddies.”
The policeman was back. He nodded and shuffled on his way, keeping his
eyes low. He wondered where he would sleep tonight, best not come back for a
day or two.
He walked
on, leaving the calm and peace of the park behind. All around him the sounds
and smells of the city assaulted his senses, buses and trucks belched out
noxious fumes, people hurried past all giving him a wide berth. A car screeched
to a halt, the driver shouting and gesticulating at him, before he realised he was
in the middle of the road. He shuffled on, not answering, not looking back.
“Oi, you,
fuck off!”
He looked
up from the skip, a man dressed in a chef’s aprons had come out of a doorway
into the alleyway and was shouting at him, he dropped the leftover food back
into the bin and moved on.
He felt dizzy and disorientated most of the time now, his body ached for food and sleep, his mind craved drink. Drink to take him away, drink to help him find the oblivion he constantly sought.
“Malone?”
He looked up from the bin. “Jesus, Malone, is that you?” A man dressed in suit
and tie addressed him.
“It is you,
Malone. What the hell happened to you?”
“This used to be my boss,” he laughed, turning to his friends.
“Seriously,
this was my manager at the bank. He got fired when he came into work drunk one
day and told all the customers to go fuck themselves. Apparently his wife had
taken the kids and buggered off with another man.”
“Please,
Freddie, I want to go.” He could hear the fear in her voice.
“Jesus, Malone.
Here,” the man said and shoved a tenner into his hand.
He looked
up when the couple walked away, tears blurred his vision. He looked down at the
ten pound note, he wanted to run after them and tell them to keep their bloody
money, tell them he didn’t need it, or them and tell them to go fuck
themselves. He scrunched the note up tightly in his fist, his knuckles turned
white. A sob escaped from his throat, a harsh guttural noise, a mournful wail
of despair.
He wiped
away the tears and snot and unfolded the note, calculating how much booze he
could get with it.
He wanted to forget.
Oh, that is so very sad. You can practically feel the despair. Very well written.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sharon :)
DeletePaul, what a fantastic piece of writing!
ReplyDelete