Prisoners of Today

PRISONERS OF TODAY

Your name is Alan Stealth and you are a bright guy, you did well at school getting all the grades you needed in order to get into university, but you were a little bit of trouble for the teachers and parents, which was all just a little bit of fun more than anything, you never hurt anyone and you were highly liked amongst your peers.

You were born in a foreign country far away, that thankfully still speaks the same language as your adoptive land, but now you have returned, for no particular reason, no goals, no clues. In your head you are searching, but in reality what are you running away from Alan?

You are now in your early twenties but your appearance hasn’t changed much, your blonde hair still shags down just past your sharp blue eyes, and always seems to have a mind of its own, even if you did ever use hair product it still wouldn’t manage to tame it, but that’s the person you are, you don’t mind.

Your skin has always looked clean, even though you don’t particularly take much care in your appearance. Some would call it lucky, but you believe the gift is wasted on you. Your charm is what gets you by, and your talent with words, but even this early in life the necessity of pleasing people has been lost on you, it’s not important in your mind and you don’t see why it should be in anyone else’s.

You will not bow down and become a pawn for the scum that now inhabits the earth.

The choice of clothing you decide to wear is not classed as acceptable in the modern world of new life Christianity or on the streets of corporate business men in their suites. Your jeans are always ripped in one place or another, and your t-shirts always seem to be an odd colour from years of fading without being replaced by newer attire. Your Converse All Stars seem to stick to your feet as they were a part of your body, even when they’re about to fall apart themselves you manage to hold the sole together to live another day.

The youthful, charming young man that was both hated and adored at school for the same general reason of envy is now gone. Inside, you are the same person but life has taken its toll in an awakening way, you see life differently now from the way people have treated you in the places you have lived, and by the choices you have made. You’re a watcher, you sit there and supervise while the others play characters in life’s drama production, and you take more notice of what’s going on around you than most people at your age would even be able to contemplate, and that’s if they even saw a need to do so.

Around every corner is another corner, that will never change, but what you decide to do between those corners is what makes a person who they are, and my friend, some might say that you have chosen the wrong path. The lane you have decided spirals down through the foreboding forests, far away from civilization would care to venture, over the murky waters and under the cloudy skies, where only you can see the way.

But there’s still a problem, you require the people’s attention, you were brought up that way and that will never leave you, you wish to be adored, and appreciated for the work you do and the things you see, whilst never wanting to venture too far into the life of normality. You believe occupation is a crime and you want no part of it, so how are you going to work around this dilemma we have in front of us?

You don’t want to work yet you want to be set for life as they say, you want to be an icon while doing nothing remotely iconic, you want to be remembered. You want to be able to stand amongst the shoulders of giants and be accepted. You want to be yourself.

How are we going to go about this Mr Alan Stealth??

Chapter One

A sudden rush of anxiety gripped my body, in a moment I didn’t know where I was. My body was covered, and the feeling of claustrophobia started to sink deep into my mind. Not only did I not know where I was for that sudden moment, but in my sleepy state i felt as if I couldn’t see my surroundings to set my mind at ease of my where abouts.

The morning after a night of intoxication, before the sleep induced haze fades away, is a moment of dread for anyone who has ever been in that situation. Yet everyone seems to return despite this. It doesn’t last long in reality before the morning sun pierces through, but feels like an eternity while the world in your head fades away, and you find yourself crashing back to reality, if you can call it reality, in whatever place you left before you managed to get to sleep.

Luckily this morning, i found myself lying under the blankets of my bed, a queen size that is still covered in the sky blue bed sheets that had been brought for me as a child by my mother. They have been used for more years than I can remember, and they give me a comfort i feel i could no longer receive since i moved overseas from my family.

My phone startled me as it began to ring somewhere in the other room, somewhere I had left it during my night of intoxication. It rang to the standard tune that came already equipped since i had not yet managed to change it for something else i preferred. I managed to raise my head and fully open my eyes to confirmed my location before throwing off the sheets, getting to my feet and heading out towards the lounge.

The house was an attached building built with the infamous red ceramic bricks during the 70’s era, where the government believed it was a good idea to solve peoples living solutions by cramming as many houses as they could on a single street. The floor boards creaked, and would bend and buckle under your feet as you walked along the two floors. Windows would deteriorate in their frames, and the panes would rot away to nothing, allowing a chilling draught to enter and bring the interior temperature to almost the level of outside.

The living room had minimal decorations to establish it as a living space, where the household’s occupants would gather to talk or play music. A flag of Bob Marley was pinned around a canvas that hung above the never-used fireplace. And the two navy coloured couches faced the ever busy coffee table next to the old television, whose only use was to watch the DVDs that were kept in the wardrobe upstairs as there was no aerial connection.

The cell phone was sitting on the coffee table, which needs to be cleaned at least once a day due to the busy lifestyle in which the table leads. It is constantly being covered with plates and food wrappers. Cassette tapes and books, and most of all, as everyone in the house is a smoker, and so are most of the friends, there is always tobacco, lighters and other tools of the trade left lying about.

I rummaged through the trash that had been left behind the night before whilst struggling to keep my eyes from shutting once more, and found my phone hidden under a cigarette box that had been completely stripped of its belongings.

“He...Hello?” I answered while clearing my voice, and waking up my vocal cords for the first time today.

“Hello Kurt, are you okay?” Asked the lady on the other side, in a cockney accent that has slightly lost the over bearing twang over the years.

“Hey nanny, Yeah, I’m fine, just woke up. How are you?”

“Alright, did you get your money?” The question you can always guarantee that will be asked during every phone call from my grandmother.

“Yeah it went through fine, checked it yesterday” I lied. I never actually checked if the money received from my Nan went through or not, I just sort of assumed it would have done. If it hadn’t for some reason, I’m sure i would have found out soon enough.

“Ok, I’ll put some more in on Wednesday for you, take care. Love you”.

“Love you too”.

The daily phone call from my grandmother was always over suddenly, and always contained much of the usual information it always did. Making sure her precious Kurt received his money and checking that he was fine, all of which was done in less than a minute or two.

My grandma had this idea that she could help me in the only way she knew how, by giving me her money, whilst she was still alive and was still able to do so. It had only been in recent years since moving away from my family that I had started to become close to my grandma and started to conduct these daily telephone calls.

The calls acted as a bridge between me and my family back home in a more immediate way, as I only seemed to keep in touch with my family every fortnight or so. But after awhile the conversations became shorter and the focus became more on the checking up to make sure that the transferred money was received, and slowly over time that became all.

The money received from my Nan was never asked for, but was always appreciated. The problem was that it always makes me feel like a burden. I know myself that i don’t need it, but over time, i have almost gotten to the stage where i sort of expect it. And with my uselessness at saving, and the money I always seem to find to spend on drugs and alcohol, it had in avertedly become a necessity. 

I dropped the phone back onto the table and put the kettle on to boil while I went to relieve myself in the bathroom. Returning to the lounge with my morning cup of tea in hand, I found that my flatmate Alan had now arisen from his bed also, and was now in the lounge standing next to the fireplace.

“Safe?”

“Yeah, safe man”

I can’t really remember who said what thinking back on it. It was a question and an answer that we had both shared together so much that it no longer mattered. The question “safe?,” Covered a full conversation for any normal person, and it fitted in well with both of our personas as we both had a dislike of both long conversations and morning moods.

You could not only break the silence of the morning haze with a simple word, but it also let each other know how the coming day would pave out in the house.

“I had some messed up dreams last night” I had mentioned for the purpose of conversation once Alan had returned from the bathroom, and also put the kettle to boil as I had done. “One of those strange dreams where I was lost, and it seemed to be in some dark town, even though it was late evening, it still had a feeling of despair and anguish, and the whole time I felt a feeling of animosity towards something or someone I do not know”

"What you talking about? You hate everything in the real world let alone in your dreams! And anyway your dreams always seem to be strange from what you have told me, it’s not even normal to remember the dreams that are sane, let alone the insane one you conjure up in your head at night"

"I know, but they’ve been different lately, they’ve felt more real than usual, and in these ones I’m not alone, I know I’m not. I don’t know who I’m with and I can never see them to tell, but I hear their voices around me and they don’t sound like the voices of anyone I know, and don’t remind me of anyone I have encountered in the past as far as I can tell.”

When i finished, Alan took sip from his cup of tea he had made while i was talking, and placed the cup on the coffee table before lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke from his nose. He then lifted his head, smirked, and gave me that look of “You’re fucked in the head mate”.

I have had friends I have been close with all of my life, I am one of those people who knows a lot of people but has very few real friends, but the ones I do have I am generally really close with due to having familiar views and interests that are rare to find. Alan was one of those friends, we shared a connection that wouldn't be lost in time. True friendship is something that is hard to find, and is often not realised until the two people have separated paths. There are very few opportunities in life where you will find someone you can connect with in that way, and you are very lucky if you are able to realise it in time and make the most of the time spent together.

Alan and I think in very similar ways, we have the same sense of humour, and we are closer than most brothers are on this earth. As they say you cannot choose your family, well in this case I had done and proved the system wrong, my brother Alan and I were free to discriminate the world together in the comfort of our own home away from the prying eyes of the discriminated.

“Your problem is that your imagination is too vivid” He said “you need to turn your brain off every now and then and just stop thinking about all the crazy stuff you think about. Have you still been looking around for work? ‘Cause that will keep your mind occupied for a bit and you will have something to do rather than sitting at home all day doing nothing.”

“Yeah, a little bit, there just seems to be nothing around lately that I can sort of do with my experience” And the lying continues, even to my friends. I hadn’t been looking for work, i had been living off my Grandma’s money, and that was keeping me going in the current lifestyle I was living.

That’s the other problem which arises from the financial support I was receiving from my Grandma, I no longer have the motivation to find a job and work towards supporting myself even when the money received is very little.

No motivation and too much time to think alone in your head can have side effects on the mind.

Chapter Two

The days all blend into one when you are unemployed, the weekends don’t stand out as being a break from the monotonous labour involved in an occupation. Every day you get to sleep and eat when you feel willing to do so. A clock isn’t necessary as you don’t follow the rules of time. Night and day is all that you know, and even then when you spend your time sheltered in a smoky room, the two become one.

The only break in the timeline you receive is when one of your few friends decides to turn up and spend a few hours with you, helping you battle the time away until you are left at your own mercy to do it again the following day.

I spend most of my days watching documentaries and plotting to take over the world on different versions of tactical conquest games on the computer, pretending as if these two outlets are a way of keeping my brain active, and delaying the deterioration of my once prominent mind.

I have heard many stories where ordinary people would change their lives, from the rubble to the Ritz with one single idea. I dreamt I could be like them, that one day I would appear on the television screen with cameras pointing at me while I wear branded clothing sponsored by companies who either believe in whatever I am doing, or can get something out of me doing it. I would stand there with newly made friends on all the corners of the globe, talking to the camera about how great my life is and how wonderful the people I have met are, whilst secretly knowing I despised every one of them, and didn’t share in any of their beliefs.

I would think of ideas that I could come up with in order for this to happen, but the ideas never come to fruition. Instead I sit and I stare in my house that I have become all too comfortable with, and just dream, because dreaming is all I feel that I can do. My motivation to reach my goals are limited to the belief I have in myself, and as my mind is all too comfortable with hiding in the haze, I do not see myself crawling out of this one any time soon.

I have always wondered about the commonly used political term that ‘all men are created equal’, but if this American term which is used around the world as a tool for democracy and human rights is true, then what have I done in my life that is so wrong that I have ended up where I am today? And would people who are born with disabilities or into a broken home where they are forced to do sometimes horrendous things just to survive feel the same way about this as the people who use the term high up in the social and economic ladders?

Socrates once said that just because the majority of people say it is true, it doesn’t mean that they are right. You should challenge everyone and everything with logic.

It’s a Saturday night and I’m lying on my bed in my room. I can hear the weekend commotion building up down the road from my house, and listen to the segmented conversations the excited people are having as they walk past my window. They talk of their friends, their plans for the coming night and the places they will be going to and who with. I envy them, I sit there all night after being there for most of the day and not achieving anything close to what I would have liked to have done.

I sat up and decided it was time for me to get out of my personal slum and go and see what was happening in the rest of the house. The hallway was dark and the only light was creeping through the gap at the bottom of the lounge door signifying that someone was on the other side.

I pushed the door open and felt the warmth that had built up surround me and somehow send a chill up my back. The smell and smoke produced from the marijuana that was being smoked filled my lungs before I had even sent the message from my brain to my feet to move forward into the light.

“Safe Dhalia?!” The all round amazing word with the million uses added with my surname to create a conversation directed at me alone.

“Yeah mate, safe?” Nice and easy “What you up to?”

“Fuck all man, haven’t done a lot all day really, spent most of it sleeping and smoking and drinking tea. You know the usual stuff.”

He may as well have said “Same as you man”.  It is surprising, come to think about it, how Alan and I generally tend to do very similar things as each other throughout the day, It’s as if we do what we do for a reason as we have been influenced through some sort of subliminal messages. And as we live together and do mostly the same things, we are influenced by the exact same messages. It’s only when other people are around that Alan doesn’t make much of an appearance, and tends to stay quiet or stay in his room.

“Hey Dhalia, I was thinking we just chill and watch some TV tonight? Maybe catch a bit of Peep Show with a few spliffs. What you reckon?”

“We’ve seen most of them now though haven’t we?” I think we have, maybe “Why don’t we watch 24 instead? We’re only like six episodes in to the season”

Alan and I had been spending most of our days just relaxing in front of the computer, nicknamed the Beast, watching assorted television shows we had illegally downloaded from the internet, that mostly consisted of Jack Bauer in 24 showing how pimp he is towards terrorists, and comedy shows like The Peep Show and Robot Chicken.

It was our own way of avoiding the world around us, and was a far easier alternative to actually doing something. This night was different though. We had decided that it was time to take the MDMA we had left over from a nights partying a few weeks back, as otherwise it would become wasted and unused if we left it lying around much longer.

Our preferred method of consumption involved carefully placing the small, cloudy crystals into a small piece of cigarette paper and with the help of some fluids, swallowing it down. Although it would take longer for the drugs to take effect, this method would allow the effects themselves to last much longer, and would also give you a feeling which is far better suited for when you are relaxing at home compared to snorting the crushed up crystals and losing your head inside a club, which would sooner or later lead to you being molested by some skank wearing hardly any clothes, or then again, could lead to you molesting a skank whilst you’re the one wearing very little clothes.

The concoction was set, and the nights events were now set in motion if we liked it or not. The episodes were put to work and there was nothing left to do but sit there and have small laughing fits and enjoyable anxiety attacks between takes.

There’s something special about taking your mind into a different dimension and doing something you enjoy. You see things differently and these memories are the ones you will remember longer than any memory you may have while you are sober. Memories are best when shared, but when you are away from that person in the aftermath, does it really matter if you were alone or not?

Jack Bauer had just successfully stopped another terrorist attack on the self appointed ‘world police force’ nation that is the United States of America. The episode was dedicated to a colonel, or lieutenant, or some soldier rank i can’t quite remember that had recently died fighting in the invasion of Iraq.

“I wonder what he did?” I asked.

“I don’t know, probably killed a load of suspected terrorists before being killed in friendly fire, or blasted by a droid”

“Ha, yeah in memory of John Charles for being the unlucky 100^th soldier to die under friendly fire since the invasion began”

“The first soldier to not have accidently killed a civilian”

This is when Alan must have remembered an episode of Chris Moyle’s television show called ‘The World Today’, and came up with something you could only come up with when your mind wasn’t in the right place for it to be, much like this entire conversation in general to be honest.

“In memory of John Charles, who managed to blow up an Iraqi school all by himself” He said in his best Chris Moyle’s expression “They were Iraqi children, so they were probably going to die soon anyway”.

“Dude that was fucking harsh man!” Is all i could come up with before falling into uncontrollable fits of laughter on the edge of the bed, and continued to fall into the laughter trap every time i looked up at Alan to make sure i wasn’t the only one making a fool of myself.

The control only came back when the next episode was put on and started to play, and our minds could turn away from the crude joke and focus on what was on the television screen. Even then for days afterwards i would think of that line, and would try contemplate how something so horrendous and disrespectful, could be so funny to people who have no experience in conflict.

We could blame it on our parents and on the way we were raised, we could blame it on television or the government just like everyone else does when they don’t have the answers. At the end of the day, isn’t it better to laugh at life’s miseries, rather than not, otherwise the only thing to do would be to cry.

“I’m off to bed after this episode Stealth”

“Yeah man it’s getting late, what time is it?”

“4 am” I replied, surprising myself on how awake i felt at this time.

After the episodes conclusion i left the room and walked down the stairs uneasily, becoming all too aware of how different things around me were beginning to look. A glass of water to quench the thirst which i had probably been feeling for most of the night but hadn’t noticed, and it was time yet again to get under my bed sheets and crash into the land of limbo for another night before waking up tomorrow and repeating the days events once again.

I have always found in hard to fall asleep, no matter how tired i may be. So when i was intoxicated on a drug which is more likely to raise the pulse and to keep you wanting to move, rather than make your eyelids heavy and ease the transition of consciousness, it all became that little bit more difficult. It wasn’t until the sun was rising and the people were driving to work that i finally managed to doze off, separating myself further from the routine of life.

Chapter Three

“Can you see it?”

I found myself on a dark section of the street, the street lights that were on across the road left a green illusion against the stone brick buildings that created an uncomforting feeling of being in a world that was grim and depressing, but was lined with the fake labels of happiness that were spread to hide the scars that lay underneath.

The people walked around in their hoods and jackets, hunched over and facing the ground as if afraid of where they might step. Every wrong step out of line could mean the end to the life in which they have come to believe is their choice because they don’t know better, and have long since forgotten their dreams in fear of what may lie ahead if they step either side of the cracks.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

I walked from under the covers of the dark section of shadows I had found myself whilst scanning either side of the street in expectation of someone, or something appearing out of the corners and heading towards me in a hope to stop me where I was Thus eliminating my chances of seeing more than I should of this strange, unknown place.

Nothing came after me when I walked into the light, which remained a dim green even up close. I had never seen this place before in my life, but knew exactly where I was, and thought i knew exactly where i was going.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

The voice I kept hearing close by continued as i walked down the road, it talked in whispers that echoed long into the night. Frantic and panicky, it was almost unrecognisable. It fought for me to listen, to be able to hear what it was saying. But i couldn’t make out the words except a continuing repetition.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

Further on down the street i past a liquor store that seemed to be the only place open at this hour, and had from what I could see, seen far better days. Without doubt, I am sure they were making enough money to shine the place up a little bit from the line of people that were walking up to the counter with their chosen assortments or drugs, alcohol and tobacco.

Under the influence enough, but still believing they needed more, they hurriedly paid for their goods while the women in the group reorganised their dress straps and the men raised their voices to become the focus of the group for a precious few seconds before they themselves were drowned out by another voice.

Paying over, and with their prizes in hand, they left the shop and walked down the street before reaching the first corner and turning right, allowing the commotion caused to slowly die down until the streets were quiet once again.

A man sat on the street corner with a cardboard cut-out, barely visible from the shadows. A silent voice lingered from beyond it, suppressed by the over powering darkness. My attention had strayed away from the shoppers and now the urge to discover what this man’s board said had now created an over bearing feeling of frustration. The feeling grew and grew as I moved closer to my goal to find out the truth, but i still couldn’t see it any clearer due to the darkness covering the man and his board.

I continued to walk closer, not able to feel my legs as i got within talking distance from the man. This stranger that i know had become fascinated with was sat against the brick wall of an abandoned workshop, and now resembled an ever more fading glimpse of the prior person I saw from down the road.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

“See what? Shut up!” I shouted into the night, unable to control myself.

The man didn’t move, and didn’t acknowledge that I had just screamed right next to him.

Did I scream though? After all none of this is real, no more real at least than the people you walk past down the road everyday, or the characters you read about in books or watch in movies.

“Hey, excuse me, sir” No answer “Is everything okay?”

The man, who had been facing slightly away from me so all that I could see of his face was his eyes and tip of his nose, now turned towards me and looked up so I could see his face fully. Even through the shadows of the darkness I could make out the previously hidden characteristics of this man who had captured my attention from down the road.

His hair appeared black due to the shadows, and waved down past his eyes and across the top of his cheeks and slowly brushed his face as a slight breeze began to float around the corner.

The hair blew out of his face long enough for me to notice tears had been flowing down from his dark blue eyes, which were black around the edges and had the appearance that this man had not been to sleep in a long time. The tears had left dark purple lines stained onto his cheeks, running from the corners of his eyes to the bottom of his jaw.

His mouth was covered in what seemed to be masking tape, but seemed to be held there by the darkness itself rather than any adhesive. The darkness held it down, and sealed the edges insuring there was no chance that this man could speak.

I had become speechless, and in that sudden moment when I was looking into this man’s eyes and he was looking back into mine, it felt like time had stopped and i could no longer move or turn away. The people on the streets walked slower around me as if time and space itself was coming to a halt. And all i could do was stand there paralyzed, staring into those eyes that had seen so much pain. Eyes that had witnessed the suppression and aggravation of his home, a place he felt he belonged, but no longer felt safe.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

My stomach churned and I started to feel dizzy, my head started to ache and i could feel my weight beginning to sway as my knees became weak. The man who had not moved since time was put into slow motion, now raised his hand without losing eye contact with me, or even blinking. In his hand was a small bowl, similar to ones you would find at the feet of beggars. The bowl itself seemed to be attached to the sign that I had previously been so eager to read. However, even this close the words were a smudge of lines and marks that blended together to create something that was neither recognisable nor readable.

My throat muscles clenched up and my legs began to spasm, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head and all at once I lurched forward. I began to throw up into the bowl that i was now holding in front of me in both hands as i started to hunch over in agonising pain radiating from my stomach.

I collapsed to the floor on my hands and knees and felt my body paralyze under a force which I could not see, but could certainly feel pressuring me into the earth. My knees were burning under the weight being forced upon them, and my back screamed for surrender as it continued to uncontrollably hunch forward, bending to its natural limit and beyond.

My stomach relaxed, and my muscles released their tension as i continued to kneel on the street with my eyes closed, breathing deeply and regaining oxygen to my lungs.

I slowly lifted my head from the small bowl and saw that nothing was inside, it was empty and I became confused about what was happening to me. I had forgotten about the streets, the liquor store and the man who was still holding his hand up with the bowl and board, despite my sudden outburst of agonisingly strange behaviour.

In a dream all dimensions of physics are easily broken, and things which are impossible in the real world become things that occur and you wouldn’t batter an eyelid about in the dream world.

The bowl was being held in both of my hands, and was also supported by the man on the street in a way that all three hands could not possibly hold and support the bowl.  I looked up again and saw that the tape on the man’s mouth had started to dissolve in front of my eyes and float away towards the sky in wisps of grey and silver powder.

I looked down in the bowl and saw the people who had previously been covered in their hooded jackets walking down the dimly lit streets, and they were now smiling and looking up. Their clothes had changed into the casual attire that we wear for comfort, not for show, and the jackets were now gone.

I looked at the man sitting on the street still holding the bowl, the tape had now fully disappeared and he was smiling. The marks from the tears were still visible, and the wetness of the eyes now portrayed the man to be crying from happiness rather than sadness.

I smiled back, also with wet eyes, and looked across at the board still afloat in front of me. The lines and marks had all come together and was now clear enough that i could read it. Although i could read it, and could understand what the words were, i could not figure out what they meant. I read it again and looked from the board to the streets and found myself smiling as i stood up, and without looking back towards the man, headed around the corner and out of sight.

“Can you see it? Why can’t you see it?”

Chapter Four

“Teenage angst has paid off well, now I’m bored and old . . . .”

Outside the sun was struggling to shine light through the clouds that were blanketing the sky in a pale grey, and every now and then trickles of rain would spill from the heavens and dampen the ground on which the clouds sheltered.

It was a week day and people were busy on the streets getting from one place to another in a hurried frenzy, stopping every so often at a store they were passing by to pick up their lunch or to run the daily errands that were needed to be done before work resumed after the conclusion of their lunchtime break.

The kitchen hadn’t been cleaned like it usually was before going to bed and was a complete mess. The lack of tea bags and favoured foods meant I would have to spending my first awoken moments heading out the door and joining the crowds that were bustling outside.

With my jeans put on in the usual lack of enthusiasm, and the cleanest t-shirt i could find covering my upper half, I strapped my Converse on to my feet and i was ready to go out into the world.

Final check in my pockets to make sure i had everything.

“Keys, Phone, Cigarettes, money” Check. Going outside in this country poses a serious risk of catching serious pneumonia and losing you balls in the process, so don’t forget your jacket.

Lighting up my first cigarette of the day I headed left onto the main road to the local store that was situated closest to my house, and although it was easier to get to it would also mean I wouldn’t spend as much time in the most crowded area of the street.

The rain held up long enough for me to purchase my goods and pay via the ‘quick’ lane, which always seems to take that little longer than the normal cashiers due to the more traffic which passes through them, more people wishing to get out just that little bit sooner. On the way back however, the clouds opened as they always tend to do on the return trip, and the rain fell from the sky.

The streets became more frantic with people rushing to find shelter in a store, bus shelter or anywhere they could find that was suitable to stop the sudden downpour from drenching them in their work suites from head to toe.

I arrived to the wooden door of my house that now sparked from the exposure of the sun that now begun to peer through the clouds, and lit up the wet building and running waters on the pavement.

Once inside, shoes were untied and discarded in my room while the shopping ended up in a pile on the kitchen counter top, to be put away at a later time when i would eventually get around to clearing the mess previously made.

 My heart was racing and I couldn’t light my cigarette fast enough to calm the over frantic nerves that always become on high alert when I spend too long around groups of people I don’t know.

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend. The Sun has gone, but I have a light. . . “

The phobia of uncertainty that resonates from the unknown when not properly comforted in your own abode sets me on edge. The feeling of anxiety makes way to blame and anger. Primarily directed towards the people i didn’t even know who i came across on my outing, for causing me to feel this way.

Sitting down on the couch and finishing off my cigarette, I stay sitting for another couple of minutes until the light headedness has faded away and I can properly operate once i get up without losing balance and focus.