Miles Carter
Active Member
- Messages
- 26
- OOC First Name
- Clare
He slowly inhaled his cigarette, paying attention to the smoke that wafted down his throat and filled his lungs, feeling a calming sensation pass through him. The itch had been scratched. But his head was still heavy laden with worry. His father had taken a turn for the worse during the night and a doctor had to be called. It was difficult to have to be the responsible one, all of the time. He didn't even understand a lot of the details the doctor would tell him about his father's condition, he usually just nodded along and pretended to understand. But really, Miles didn't understand any of this. Not only what was happening in his father's body, but why this happened to his father, why this ended up on his shoulders, why he felt so lonely. All of the time. It wasn't like this feeling was foreign to the twenty-two year old, hell, he spent most of his teenage years feeling lonely. But this was a different kind. When he was younger, he was surrounded by fickle friends and fickle girlfriends and an abundant amount of drugs, he was lonely but he was never alone. Knowing only one person in the entire country, on the entire island, and that one person was your father, and was dying very slowly of cancer, that changed everything.
He withdrew the cigarette from his mouth as he observed the setting around him. Miles didn't particularly like the park, he found the children too perky and there were never any single woman. Only married woman. Mothers. That was the third reason why he had a great distaste for the park. Seeing the family picnic followed by the family soccer game was something that he never had. It was also something that he never would have. Miles couldn't decide which was worse. Yet, at least three times a week, he found himself sitting on the same wooden bench, simply because it was the closest place that he could escape to. It wasn't perfect. But nothing about this situation was perfect, so he really wasn't expecting any more from this place. Or from the mother who grabbed her young child's pudgy hands when she caught the sight of Miles. People always got that impression of Miles; the mohawk, the muscular arms, the snake tattoo. He usually liked to act the part when people picked up their pace, but today he just wasn't really feeling up to it. He was feeling lonely, lonelier than he had felt in a while and all that was waiting for him was an empty studio apartment or a house that smelled quite like a hospital. He let his cigarette butt slip through his fingers and tapped it out once with the tip of his boot. But he could tap out that cigarette a hundred times and it still wouldn't stamp away the loneliness that was swelling in his chest.
He withdrew the cigarette from his mouth as he observed the setting around him. Miles didn't particularly like the park, he found the children too perky and there were never any single woman. Only married woman. Mothers. That was the third reason why he had a great distaste for the park. Seeing the family picnic followed by the family soccer game was something that he never had. It was also something that he never would have. Miles couldn't decide which was worse. Yet, at least three times a week, he found himself sitting on the same wooden bench, simply because it was the closest place that he could escape to. It wasn't perfect. But nothing about this situation was perfect, so he really wasn't expecting any more from this place. Or from the mother who grabbed her young child's pudgy hands when she caught the sight of Miles. People always got that impression of Miles; the mohawk, the muscular arms, the snake tattoo. He usually liked to act the part when people picked up their pace, but today he just wasn't really feeling up to it. He was feeling lonely, lonelier than he had felt in a while and all that was waiting for him was an empty studio apartment or a house that smelled quite like a hospital. He let his cigarette butt slip through his fingers and tapped it out once with the tip of his boot. But he could tap out that cigarette a hundred times and it still wouldn't stamp away the loneliness that was swelling in his chest.