Author: Katsumoto
Original thread: [H.F.] A Penny for Your Thoughts

A Penny for Your Thoughts


A penny for your thoughts, a dollar for your dignity...

A grim shadow casts its spell along a gloomy alley. A foul bird sits, watching, as the rain patters gently on the trash cans below like an orchestra of drums. A disheveled figure shifts uneasily in the midst of dungy litter, an ancient overcoat covering an equally ancient man. The bedraggled mass rises groggily from the concrete, glancing up at the feathered creature as it still sits, perched on stairs of corroded steel. It cocks its dark head as the two glance at each other for a moment, the beady eyes of the bird meeting the fatigued gaze of the man. Even a bird has time to look down on him.

 The downpour intensifies as the man treads along a squalid street, his feet shifting heavily in his thick winter boots. Every step is a colossal effort; every breath a great achievement. Passersby are a blur as they rush to avoid the shower, eager to get to their warm homes and loving families. They do not ignore the man, for that would suggest acknowledgment of his existence; he is but a wraith in a sea of bodies. His ragged coat is drenched, the rain running off it like water on glass. A drop falls from his hood and onto his nose, continuing to stream along the withered face, dipping and diving within the creased skin. Finally, it reaches the haggled beard, where it disappears in a tangle of greying hair.

Coarse coughs return as the man continues to trudge through a collection of miniature lakes, his boots causing spectacular splashes as they crash down into the water. The old man walks, back hunched over like a beast of legend. He forces himself onwards, a gust of wind now blowing the rain directly towards him. Pellets of aqua slam into the uncovered face, stinging the worn skin like a sea of angry wasps. The man tries to turn his face away from the onslaught, but to no avail; he will have to endure, as usual.

A blast of air gushes past the man as he enters a sheltered store entrance. He seats himself by the door, pulling his coat ever tighter around his fragile shoulders. He begins to shiver, the damp overcoat incapable of serving its purpose. A discarded plastic cup lies by him, which he picks up and grips lightly, holding it out to passing pedestrians. A suited man, garbed in a navy blue suit and pants, walks by, clutching an umbrella in one hand and speaking into a phone in the other. He passes a fleeting look over the ragged lump in the corner, before continuing his journey.

An hour passes. The rain continues to exude from the Heavens, a small flood forming by the man’s legs. His feet are fully drenched, the water having soaked through the decayed boots. The door behind him opens and a thin figure emerges, urging him to leave. The shopkeeper continues to hound the man until finally he rises, wandering hesitantly back into the liquid sunshine.

 He walks on, seeking another place to shelter from the never ending assault of rain and wind. A flash of brilliant light fills the sky for an instant, a thunderous roar following seconds later. The streets are now bereft of life, only a few souls still hurrying home. Like a phantom, the lone man shuffles along the urban corridor, every pore of his dilapidated skin filled to the brim with rainwater. His stomach cries out, desperate for anything to fill its empty void. The old man suddenly collapses by a short wall, frail arms reaching out for support. Hunger and thirst are the least of his worries – his hands tremble as they hold onto the cold brick, the shiver coursing through his arms and into his whole upper body. His strained heart beats like a drum within the skeletal frame, blue veins popping through pale skin like rivers of affliction. He steels himself and regains composure, before turning to continue his endless journey through the metropolis.

 Thunder still booms overhead as the man reaches a narrow back-street. The continuous downpour has muddied the alley, filth and grime blanketing the rough pavement. The man has no choice but to lay here, the towering apartment blocks on either side providing at least some protection from the tempest around him.

With a gruff groan he slouches beside a heavy steel container. Leaning back on the metal, the man attempts the impossible task of making himself comfortable in highly uncomfortable conditions. A torn piece of wet cardboard is used feebly as cover from the downpour, the rain shredding the aged material within minutes. Another violent rumble emanates from the starving gut. A painful hunger is a hunger the man cannot endure. With the water still lashing down on him, he clutches the side of the garbage container and with all remaining energy pulls himself up. Completely impoverished, he begins scouring through the filth, searching for any edible remains. The stench is sickening. Hundreds of hours had been spent completing this awful but necessary task, yet never had the man grown accustomed to the disgusting smell that came from rotting meat and foul fruits, among other discarded assortments that now filled the container. Begrimed hands push aside bin bags, odd liquids oozing from slits in the plastic. He notices what appears to be a recently discarded apple and pulls it out at full stretch from the pit. To the man’s shock, a rat hangs from the core, its teeth firmly embedded within the fruit. Recoiling, he drops the rotten apple back into the steel box. With a dejected sigh, the man returns to the turf.

A fresh burst of intensity fills the torrent, the elements clearly apathetic toward the man’s plight. Unable to feed his ever present hunger, he decides to try and quench his ceaseless thirst. With an open mouth and out-stretched tongue, he waits. It is not to be, for irony decides to join the congregation of contenders facing him. Rain splashes all around him, landing on weathered cheeks, a bruised nose and tired eyes. Yet few drops fall where they are needed. Some eventually hit their mark, the sweet liquid like caramel on the man’s desiccated tongue. The strain from keeping the mouth open and the tongue out is not worth these rare satisfactions, so the man decides to attempt and extract some moisture from his saturated coat. Pressing his lips to the fabric, he draws the water from his sleeve. The taste is horrid, the liquid having mixed with the grime enclosed in the fibres of the clothing. He tries to ingest more of the murky fluid, but gives up – the sting on his tongue is too much to bear.

 He sags back once again against the garbage container. Shutting his eyes, he forces it all from his thoughts. The brain is a powerful tool, allowing people to persevere even in the harshest of conditions. But the rain, the perpetual rain, continues to bore into the man’s psyche. He can ignore the hunger; he can ignore the thirst and the throbbing of his joints. Even the exhaustion can be pushed to the back of the mind. But the rain is always there, pecking like a woodpecker against his forehead. The grizzled figure curls up into a ball, sticking his tired face between the knees, shielding it from the downpour. He looks back up to the grey sky and begins reciting something. If one could distinguish the liquid on the man’s face, they would notice tears, streaming from weary blood-shot eyes. The rain is unrelenting, uncaring. As he sits trembling, the man’s gaze is transfixed to a bird, fluttering through the shower before landing on a covered window sill. He watches enviously as it shakes the wetness from its dark feathers. The raven shuffles cautiously along the shelf, before turning its cold stare on the old man. The two examine each other, the bird from its high position on the window and the man from his unsightly home by the blue container. They recognise each other as equals: both without a home, both without anyone to care after them and love. They are loners in every sense of the word. This strange bonding moment is interrupted by another blast from the Heavens, shocking the two fellows back into existence. The bird returns to the safety of the window cover, once again leaving the man all alone.

 The time will come soon. He has been out in the rain far too long, and his weak malnourished body cannot withstand the torment any longer. Numbness begins to creep along the nerves, starting with the tips of the fingers and flowing through the entire region. Minutes pass as the dullness engulfs the whole body. No longer can he feel the rain pattering on his weary skin. A relief, albeit one that shan't last long. Every ounce of energy seeps from his bones, until only the mind appears to be left functioning. The man tries to move his arm but the limp limb does not respond. With heavy eyes he peers back up at where the bird sat, now seeing it again, watching him as he waits. The winged creature peers at the man nonchalantly, as if it was looking into space, and not at a figure of flesh and blood.

The time comes. Weary eyes begin to shut slowly, the man still attempting half-heartedly to fight the inevitable. In an odd epiphany he realises that too much time had been spent fighting the inevitable, struggling through times which he should not have bothered with. A strong final breath fills the decrepit lungs with oxygen, before finally the man gives out and lets nature run its course. The wrinkled eyelids shut over glazed eyes, never to open again.