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The Home Of
The Homeless
9
The man in that office had it all: a job, a family, a roof over his head, what
more could he want? I just couldn’t understand how someone could have
everything but still be miserable. The three years that he’s worked there, he’s never
smiled, not even once. Wherever he went, people looked up at him with fear,
power seemed to ooze from his pores. He dwarfed all his onlookers and could make
any man cower in the face of his anger. But in this city of faces, his would be the
last I’d ever see.
It was a lonely Friday evening, the moon hung lower than usual,
brushing the land with its ghostly light. The city was haunted by an
ominous gale that swept through the dark alleys, chanting warnings
of the tragedy that would follow. Pedestrians quickened their steps,
attempting to escape the ear-piercing screams of the wind, everyone
rushed towards the safety of their homes. Suddenly, the wind ceased,
what replaced it was the loudest silence I’d ever heard. Outside my
window, the man was lying impossibly still, staring at the moon with
a look of longing on his face. And that was the moment I knew, I
sprinted down the steps and rushed to his side as the sky started
spitting. He blinked at me blankly and whispered his last words,
‘Don’t take life too seriously. No one gets out alive anyways.’ And
with a smile plastered on his face, he left the earth, the wind whistling
out the last few bars of the soundtrack of his life…
‘