Lasith (lasith) wrote,

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The Man

There he sat, taking in the aromas and sights of the city while trying to fight the urge not to cry. There had been so many days in his loneliness that he felt like a beaten dog, kicked too many times, scars under the eyes and blood on his clothes from times when his weakness made him an even larger target. Add to that the poison he drank, that had addicted him since he first drank it as a child, the alcohol had addicted his father and his father before that. A snare that had caught his whole family and now being caught in it he wished he had never been in it, but now that he was caught a swig of whiskey or a bottle of beer might ease the pain and forget the past. But indeed this was a slow downward spiral of suffering, it was once a life of suffering filled with youthful hopes and dreams. But youthful hopes and dreams quickly fade when the scars and wrinkles cloud your face. Such is this world of suffering to those who are unable to grasp their youth and provide for their eventual decline, because the elder is now like a homeless man to be stepped over in the streets rather a man of wisdom and distinction. But let us be clear this was a man not of distinction or wisdom but a man who hoped these things to be true of him and even that tree bore no fruit.

What keeps us toiling on this mortal coil when hope is gone and suffering seems persistent? The sad answer might be fear, to plunge off a bridge or drink himself to death had crossed his mind but there was no guarantee that the deeds of this life would lead to a better chance in the next. Still there had been days when he ended up unconscious in the emergency room. There were undoubtedly many that would glance in his direction and judge him to a fiery doom as a hound of Satan. When his only sin was to follow one stray dog after another and having to fight for the scraps of food and survival until he was finally unwelcome. But we neglect to ask questions of these beastly humans, their mere existence is like an unforgivable trespass. No amount of Our Fathers can alleviate pain unless some amount of mercy is given not by heaven but by those on Earth. The man was a good man, but there was more to be seen then could ever be seen about him unless you sat there and waited...for him to come to you

And the man approached me, naturally fearful as if to ask for anything was suffering enough. He probably had so many negative results before that and only desperation kept him asking. His speech was slurred and the booze wafted from his body. I asked him where he was from and he replied a nearby reserve called Enoch. And then I told him I wasn't going to give him a cent, but I would buy him a meal. That is how I became friends with a drunkard with heart named Gerald.

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