- Messages
- 37
Don's bare feet slapped against the cobblestones of the back street he was wandering, feeling more mud beneath his toes than actual rock. He shuddered at the feel of dead leaves on the road/quagmire, one of the most unpleasant feelings he could think of, apart from talking to strangers. Then again, the latter wasn't so much unpleasant as downright terrifying. He remembered several times during the course of his wanderings that he'd stumbled and been forced to seek help. ... that one winter's night where he'd lain, frostbitten in the pile of snow at someone's gate, was when he had met The Kind Man next door who'd given him shelter. That was good. Kind People were trustworthy but there weren't many of them anymore. Don did not blame them, for the longer he wandered, the more bedraggled and frightening he looked. He was skinny and dirty with huge dark circles beneath his eyes. He walked like a hunchback but only to hide his face which was already shrouded in long matted hair. God, if only he knew what had awaited him here, he would never have left the hospital. No; anything was better than the nightmare of enclosing white walls. Suddenly his vision narrowed to a speck on the ground, everything around it becoming black mist with hunger and exhaustion. He knew this feeling; he could not collapse here! Fainting, here in the open, was death, death, death! Don whimpered at the touch of a wrinkled hand at his shoulder and the murmur of a concerned voice, but it was too late. Curling in on himself like a deceased beetle, he collapsed.
It was so beautifully soft, here. Don rubbed his face into the first of many cushions surrounding his face and tucked himself into a more comfortable nook. He hadn't woken up to such luxury since he'd lived with his mother. Some part of Don reminded him that the road had no such luxury and it was with great difficulty and reluctance that he opened his eyes to assess the dream, for that was all it must be. A tall ceiling and small but expensive items. He was up to his neck in a king sized bed. Don sat up curiously and the covers fell away from his bare chest. He didn't like this dream already; he hated seeing his skinny body. But he was clean and his long hair was not dirty anymore but fell in curls around his shoulders. That was good, too. Yet the most curious article was the girl in the corner, sitting on the white and delicate stool, watching him. Even in the dream, he blushed. Don said nothing yet, but made to rise as he knocked his elbow on the bedside cabinet. "Ouch," he said softly, bemused. Looking at the pink mark that began to form, a thought grew with it. Dreams did not hurt. That was why he liked sleeping, because nothing was real. His lily white skin broke out in goosebumps and he looked wildly at the girl who looked like a painting. She was moving. A tear of instant panic trickled out of the corner of his eye. Where was he?
It was so beautifully soft, here. Don rubbed his face into the first of many cushions surrounding his face and tucked himself into a more comfortable nook. He hadn't woken up to such luxury since he'd lived with his mother. Some part of Don reminded him that the road had no such luxury and it was with great difficulty and reluctance that he opened his eyes to assess the dream, for that was all it must be. A tall ceiling and small but expensive items. He was up to his neck in a king sized bed. Don sat up curiously and the covers fell away from his bare chest. He didn't like this dream already; he hated seeing his skinny body. But he was clean and his long hair was not dirty anymore but fell in curls around his shoulders. That was good, too. Yet the most curious article was the girl in the corner, sitting on the white and delicate stool, watching him. Even in the dream, he blushed. Don said nothing yet, but made to rise as he knocked his elbow on the bedside cabinet. "Ouch," he said softly, bemused. Looking at the pink mark that began to form, a thought grew with it. Dreams did not hurt. That was why he liked sleeping, because nothing was real. His lily white skin broke out in goosebumps and he looked wildly at the girl who looked like a painting. She was moving. A tear of instant panic trickled out of the corner of his eye. Where was he?