No Place Like Home ✔

Three

Guilt is to the spirit what pain is to the body - which is probably why my spirit remained unharmed. 

I won't lie to you. In the two days of myself switching from returning home during night-time and coming back to the street I'd decided to beg on during the early hours of the morning after having eaten breakfast, my guilt had been wiped out completely. 

Perhaps because I had officially come to terms with what I was doing. However, in that case, the guilt only gains the position of superiority over you and plays you like a puppet bound to strings. I, however, was not like that. I wasn't like other people - by that I do not mean I'm far better than they will ever be. By that I mean I am a bad person. 

People are bad, yes. They are horrible. But, if you were to put every miserable being together, the amount of hatred that is assembled from having combined each of their misery would never be a match to the amount of hatred that I held in this little heart of mine. 

This little heart of mine that failed to show compassion. 

This little heart of mine that hated what I had become. 

Coming back to the puppet on the strings. In my case, I was the puppet bound to the strings. I was the strings. I was the puppet-master. I was playing myself. I was being controlled by myself. I was ruining myself. 

Nobody was responsible aside from myself. 

I was aware of this. 

In every story, you will find a character you dislike. There will always be one character you find yourself not relating to or hating with a burning passion.

 In this story, that character will be me. 

I do not ask of you to empathize with me. I do not ask for sympathy - nor do I ask for you to understand what I am going through. That being said, I will not try to explain my situation any further. I will let you hate me, as you should. For now, I hate myself as well. I hate what I've become. And yet, I'm doing absolutely nothing to fix my plight except make it worse. 

It was a chilly day, and the skin sitting on my bones was trembling because of the absence of a coat or any sort of protective barrier to keep myself warm. But then again, I would do anything to evoke pity. 

I had made a decent amount of money in the last two days, and I owed it all to my youthful appearance and the compassion the beings in this street possessed. 

I envied them. Not because of how wealthy they were, but because of the basic rules of etiquette they withheld. Rules of etiquette that I'd forgotten over time; ones I'd allowed myself to forget without bearing it a second thought. 

Maybe, just maybe I did possess a little bit of guilt. I could still feel it pricking my heart with tiny little needles. I could feel it boring holes into my mind only to dive in and swim around in repetitive circles, reminding me of my horrid nature. Yet, I paid no mind to it. I would not let myself be fazed by the guilt I was feeling. 

Because the determination will always outweigh the guilt. 

The greed will always outweigh the compassion. 

The demons will always outnumber the angels. 

The angels will always commit a sin only to be forced to roam the deepest pits of the underworld. 

And the angels that don't? God only knows.

'Everything is so blue and pretty' my mother used to say, 'Just like heaven, don't you think?'

All she saw was blue. All my father saw was blue. All my siblings saw was blue.

Then why was I seeing red?

Was I one of those angels that had committed a sin? Was I now roaming the deepest pits of the underworld as well? Was I amongst devils such as myself? 

I had always felt like a burden. Not only to my parents, my siblings and other relatives of mine - but to myself as well. I had gradually grown sick of the person I was turning into, though yet again, I did nothing to stop myself from being influenced by the terrors of my own mind. 

I did nothing to save myself when I was drowning - I didn't even attempt to move my limbs in the water that was dying to swallow me. 

I did nothing to save myself when I was burning - I didn't even attempt to run. I let the inferno bite through my skin and ignite the crimson blood so that the only things left rushing through my body were flames. Flames that eventually corroded my mind and burnt my mind to ashes, taking away my senses of morality. 

And now I was only a shell of a man. 

A sad, sorrowful, horrible man. 

The world would do much better without me. It would spin even after my passing. People would carry on with their daily tasks. Nobody would be fazed. 

Amidst my thoughts, I failed to notice the man that had been standing in front of me for the last two minutes, peering at my sign. When I did notice him, though, I raised my brows at him in confusion. 

He said nothing, only tossed a penny into the paper cup before disappearing into a nearby store. 

I went back to staring at the paper cup which was already beginning to overflow with notes and pennies. 

Then, I saw the man return. This time, he took his seat beside me and brought his knees to his chest, staring ahead into the distance. 

I didn't look at him but I cleared my throat to ease the awkward tension, "Hey."

"Hey," was all he said before continuing. "Am I bothering you?"

"No," I confessed. 

The only person bothering me was myself. 

"Good," he sighed.

"Good," I repeated. "What are you here for?"

"Let's talk," he proposed. 

"About what exactly?"

"Anything you want to. You look like you have a lot that you'd like to get off your chest."

This was my first encounter with the man that would change my life completely.