***
On one of the benches, sat The Man with his trilby hat on, gazing soundlessly into the air with his sad and flat look. His hands rested on his thighs close to his knees, and his briefcase down on the floor at the side of his ‘perfectly aligned legs’. Seated to his immediate right, was a wide woman with curly hair. She sat like a statue as she thought silently, clutching her handbag which was on her thighs.
No one talked to another, all along the very narrow, waiting corridor. They congested silently on the benches and thought on their problems as they waited for their turns. Seated among the waiting visitors were the patients, who ranged from individuals with bandaged foreheads, bandaged arms and legs, to very sickly men and women who were as far thin as thinness itself could go.
As The Man stared in midair, a nurse carrying a clipboard walked into the corridor from his far left. From the list on her clipboard, she called out his name. All eyes turned to him, and his hands trembled for a moment. He stood up with his briefcase and slightly ‘hardened’ his face in an attempt to repel the sticking gazes as he walked up to the nurse. She explained something to him.
With his hands resting on his thighs close to his knees, The Man sat on the small chair, wearing his sad, flat face while staring at the woman laying unconscious on the bed. She had all kinds of tubes and wires connecting her body to machines–which had been keeping her alive for the past year. With all the money he had left, he had paid for the service; but much more was needed if she was to be sustained any longer. Without moving an inch, he gazed at the woman, who was about his age, sadly and flatly as he listened to the machines beep, the fluids drip, and the clock tick.
***
Carrying his briefcase, the man rushed his slow steps and walked out of the drizzles into the small, local bank. Standing on the sisal mat at the entrance, he slowly took off his hat with his left hand; holding it at his chest as he slowly and sadly looked around as if lost. He watched as the happy customers waited on the long, curving queues to receive their monthly pay. He coveted their place, as he waited to be welcomed.
Minutes later, he was seated at the enquiries desk, with his briefcase at the side of his right leg, and the bottom of his hat lying on his thighs. With both of his hard hands, he held the top of the hat, as he listened to the young man who started to explain. His face remained flat and blank, as he received the news that no more government money had been deposited for him in his empty account.
With his face angled to the ground, The Man dragged through the drizzles along the pavement with his briefcase. On all sides, he was being overtaken by the smartly dressed, serious faced, focused human beings, dashing about in opposite directions to their workplaces for their afternoon shifts.
Into the railway station, he pulled himself. He approached the offices out of which chatting employees were just leaving. The guard on duty shut the doors behind them for Thursday maintenance. Without a care, The Man walked past the ‘unconcerned’ employees in the opposite direction and headed towards the wide-open entrance to the boarding platform.
With his face still angled to the ground, he dragged himself into wide platform. He was tired and very disappointed. He stopped and looked up, and with his sad, flat gaze, he watched as the last car of the last train rolled out from the shelter of the hemispherical steel roof. He looked around and ‘realized’ he was the only one left on the entire platform.
***
Through the drizzles, The Man limped slightly as he walked among the multitudes, his face angled down as he thought to himself. All around him, on the wide, muddy path, rushed thousands of slum dwellers, heading home from a hard day’s work with their day’s earnings inside their pockets. His own pockets had only dust to show for his efforts.
Getting to the path along his fence, he dragged towards his gate–arriving home from a normal day like everyone else. As he turned around and pulled out his old, soft keys, he noticed that the rusted shutter was open. His eyes immediately caught the sight of the big, shiny padlock locking the door to his house. All his belongings were outside on the wet grass. Everything, from his dusty, torn up sofa, his broken record player, his small sized utensils, to his stuffed, jeans bag, which was torn all along its big zipper as a result of overstretching.
For a few seconds, The Man froze and stared at his property, which was being drizzled on, after which he noticed that several of his neighbors were peeking out of their curtains, windows, and doors at him. And just as he caught them peeping, they quickly shut their partly open doors and windows, fully drawing their curtains fast–leaving him out in the drizzling, grey, cold evening.
At the side of a busy, muddy path, The Man pulled himself with his briefcase, his face angled to the ground as he approached the metallic bench. He turned around, and very slowly, he sat under its shed. His sad face sagged with fear as he slowly placed the briefcase on the ground at the side of his ‘perfectly aligned legs’. Resting his hands on his thighs, close to his knees, he stared soundlessly.
THE END
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