Desperation Devastation
Half-Hearted, Deserted.
"Who?"
"Lance," I replied, sniffling.
"And who is this Lance?" The man asked, looking at me once again.
"The sorry excuse of a man I fell in love with."
"What did he do, this Lance, sorry excuse of a man you fell in love with? Did he do a runner? Nah, who'd run from a pretty little thing like you? Nope, that can't be it..." The man said, half to himself.
Inside I smiled, too numb and fragile to smile outside of my shell.
"He ain't dead. you'd still love him if he was.." He babbled, with a mad gleam in his intoxicated eyes.
As I do Naomi, I thought to myself as the man muttered, talking to himself, making assumptions and creating invisible scenarios in his head.
"I know what this Lance, sorry excuse of a man who you fell in love with did." The scraggly haired man quietly announced, with a solemn certainty in his voice, propelling waves of sadness and hatred towards me.
"The fucker cheated didn't he?" The man asked, almost rhetorically.
I nodded, willing the tears to stay away. They retreated, to return to their wives and children, away from the emotional war inside me.
An awkward silence passed between us, ricocheting off my despair and his sympathy, understanding and his compassion.
This being, this homeless, undiscovered, abandoned soul, was the first person in a long time to understand me, my pain and the need not to pry. This being was the first flower to bloom in a long, icy winter.
Clearing my throat, I gained his attention, pulling his mind from daydream.
"May I ask, just how did you guess what happened?"
"As a human, you begin to recognize the different faces of hurt. Your face was the same as my late mother, bless her soul, when the sorry excuse of a man she fell in love with, broke her heart, her spirit and eventually, her neck." He said those last three words with an emotion which only one who was there could feel.
Before I could offer my condolences, he stood bolt upright and held an outstretched hand towards before me.
"Come on." The man said beckoning me forward.
As I stood up and stepped towards the raven haired man with electric eyes, the sharp smell of alcohol, mixed with pot filled my nostrils.
"So what's your name anyway? Not that it'll matter to anyone around here..." He asked looking over his shoulder.
"Emile." I replied, looking him in the eyes. I saw an innocence, tainted with anger, giving him a deranged look.
"Emile. Welcome to the Land-Of-Smiles." He said with pride, presenting my surroundings with a wave of his arm.
Uneven, dusty, ground studded with litter lead down to a green, dodgy looking river. It was clogged with shopping trolleys, plastic bags and various items of trash, which everyone probably knew wasn't gonna wash away or decompose for awhile.
The river was laced with a foul stench of rotting roadkill, sewage and quite possibly a cadaver.
Haggard people were huddled in groups, dotted in various improvised shelters to shield from the wind. Few were sprawled on old moldy mattresses, few sprawled on the ground. You would guess they were dead, until you hear a groan or snore.
Weeps, laughs, painful moans and pleasured moans were heard. But no-one cared. There isn't room for discretion in the Land-Of-Smiles.
"If you're wondering about the name, it was formed by The Originals. They're mostly all dead, or just left, which is probably the same thing nowadays."
"It's the Land-Of-Smiles because no-one here really smiles, but they do if they're usually high. Also because if you're here, it's probably better than where you were originally." He said, with a grin.
"By the way, the name's Razor."
"Lance," I replied, sniffling.
"And who is this Lance?" The man asked, looking at me once again.
"The sorry excuse of a man I fell in love with."
"What did he do, this Lance, sorry excuse of a man you fell in love with? Did he do a runner? Nah, who'd run from a pretty little thing like you? Nope, that can't be it..." The man said, half to himself.
Inside I smiled, too numb and fragile to smile outside of my shell.
"He ain't dead. you'd still love him if he was.." He babbled, with a mad gleam in his intoxicated eyes.
As I do Naomi, I thought to myself as the man muttered, talking to himself, making assumptions and creating invisible scenarios in his head.
"I know what this Lance, sorry excuse of a man who you fell in love with did." The scraggly haired man quietly announced, with a solemn certainty in his voice, propelling waves of sadness and hatred towards me.
"The fucker cheated didn't he?" The man asked, almost rhetorically.
I nodded, willing the tears to stay away. They retreated, to return to their wives and children, away from the emotional war inside me.
An awkward silence passed between us, ricocheting off my despair and his sympathy, understanding and his compassion.
This being, this homeless, undiscovered, abandoned soul, was the first person in a long time to understand me, my pain and the need not to pry. This being was the first flower to bloom in a long, icy winter.
Clearing my throat, I gained his attention, pulling his mind from daydream.
"May I ask, just how did you guess what happened?"
"As a human, you begin to recognize the different faces of hurt. Your face was the same as my late mother, bless her soul, when the sorry excuse of a man she fell in love with, broke her heart, her spirit and eventually, her neck." He said those last three words with an emotion which only one who was there could feel.
Before I could offer my condolences, he stood bolt upright and held an outstretched hand towards before me.
"Come on." The man said beckoning me forward.
As I stood up and stepped towards the raven haired man with electric eyes, the sharp smell of alcohol, mixed with pot filled my nostrils.
"So what's your name anyway? Not that it'll matter to anyone around here..." He asked looking over his shoulder.
"Emile." I replied, looking him in the eyes. I saw an innocence, tainted with anger, giving him a deranged look.
"Emile. Welcome to the Land-Of-Smiles." He said with pride, presenting my surroundings with a wave of his arm.
Uneven, dusty, ground studded with litter lead down to a green, dodgy looking river. It was clogged with shopping trolleys, plastic bags and various items of trash, which everyone probably knew wasn't gonna wash away or decompose for awhile.
The river was laced with a foul stench of rotting roadkill, sewage and quite possibly a cadaver.
Haggard people were huddled in groups, dotted in various improvised shelters to shield from the wind. Few were sprawled on old moldy mattresses, few sprawled on the ground. You would guess they were dead, until you hear a groan or snore.
Weeps, laughs, painful moans and pleasured moans were heard. But no-one cared. There isn't room for discretion in the Land-Of-Smiles.
"If you're wondering about the name, it was formed by The Originals. They're mostly all dead, or just left, which is probably the same thing nowadays."
"It's the Land-Of-Smiles because no-one here really smiles, but they do if they're usually high. Also because if you're here, it's probably better than where you were originally." He said, with a grin.
"By the way, the name's Razor."