Dead Man Walking

When he arched an eyebrow, he created fear in anyone who was near. It wasn’t that his appearance was frightening in and of itself but if you scrambled all his features together, the picture he presented was intimidating. Cloudy blue eyes seemed to hide devious thoughts as he peered out of the side of his face, so no one could be sure if he was looking directly at them. He had a long, deep scar running down his cheekbone, giving the impression that he had lost a violent confrontation. His nose looked like it had fallen off the side of a mountain since it was splayed to one side. A ruddy, weathered face gave the impression that he had lived a hard life. When he walked into a store, everyone stopped and stared, pretending they weren’t looking, sheltered behind their sunglasses, thinking he didn’t see them. But make no mistake! He was very aware of every movement and every thought as he kept his barrier around him. No one could ever sneak up behind him because he had been well trained as a member of the Delta Force years back. He knew how to walk stealthily, had been well versed in intelligence work, had been overseas several times and knew how to kill. But now, his brain was fried and he existed mainly on the streets.

People walking by him on the sidewalks averted their eyes and pretended they didn’t see him. Occasionally, a stray dog would lift his leg and urinate on his ragged form. He hardly noticed as he focused on the anger bubbling inside him. “I served my country, no one cares, I’m thrown away in the gutter, there are spies all around me, those voices keep talking to me, talking, talking. I can’t sleep, I’m cold, I’m hungry, I see the black all around me, everyone’s dead, I can see the veins in my legs, the bright light hurts my eyes!” On and on, he ranted and raved, never making much sense, but the pain festered on, burning his guts. He never seemed to notice that his pungent smell was overwhelming as he picked his blistered feet and then wound dirty rags around them. “I have to walk and find it! I know it’s somewhere! Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop! They took it! I know they did! They’ll be sorry!” He was a broken record that couldn’t stop revolving but no one was willing to take the time to help him.

Every day, he stopped at the Salvation Army to gulp down his one meal of the day, dribbling it down the side of his face and wiping it with his filthy fingers. Sometimes, he would snatch extra food off the plates of others sitting near him, causing them to avoid him. The operator of the food kitchen would take pity on him, once in a while, slipping him an extra sandwich which he crammed into his pocket on top of the sandwich he had been given the other day. He wouldn’t eat it because it had poison in it. Maybe he’d feed it to the dog that used his leg as a fire hydrant. Yeah, that would serve him right. “Dead dog, dead dog, dead dog!”

“I’m dead myself!”