Crimson Mists

03. Strange Conversations and Stranger Topics

Gratitude is broadly defined as an emotion arising in a person who is helped by others, which can induce moral behaviors, as described by McCullough et al. (2001). In addition, gratitude directed to someone, or something, can be associated with feelings of joy-"

Naito, T. & Sakata,Y. (2010). Gratitude, indebtedness, and regret on receiving a friend's favor in Japan. Psychologia, 53, 179-194.

Chikamharida's POV.

My saviour came as promised and I remembered him clearly because we had both witnessed the hint of sunrise together, whereby his defined cheekbones and wide eyes were in the light; although I could pretend that the specifics of what we discussed have been lost to amnesia, I can however recall quite vividly our latter discourse which led to my landing a satisfying job at my current place of work.

I had just finished with both sausages and was leniently staring at the night sky, no more in hunger but in astonishment, gratitude and a temporary satisfaction. What I'd have called my starving to death had been remedied to a survival. Despite how surprising it was that I was opportuned to study my environment without the grumbling of my stomach, I must confess to enjoying it quite well.

The tyre was a shadow of the tar, but softer on unfortunate beings like me who spared it contact; it wasn't actually that hard on my behind, so my comfort on the seat remained constant. Around me, my alveoli caught whiffs of stale urine mixed with herbs, cigarettes and weed. The air was gentle and caressing, cocooning me in its linens long enough to consider myself blessed, good fated. For a moment I watched the world like a child on her father's shoulder so that I saw only the good things around me: a mother successfully lulling her child to sleep, two bus drivers conversing and revelling in the soft details of friendship, passengers enjoying each other's comfort, trying to indulge familiarity amongst themselves by sharing in hot debates that'd have been entertainment if they weren't truly expressing their feelings and half the country's citizens' frustration.

Times like this when I wasn't bothered, I always picked a pen and a paper to jot things down and if possible, to create a character who will bear all things substantial in my persona; a weird habit which turned out hard in my situation because I had in possession nothing but my scrap phone and a little cash in a tattered sling bag.

As if to cut my joy short, he highlighted the bus and dared walking in my line of vision. I allowed him, mostly because I couldn't exactly bash him across his head; or maybe I was in a good mood, one he was responsible for.

"I see you've eaten it," he said, eyeing the nylon wraps in my hand.

In a desperate attempt to seem classy, I rubbed crumbs away from my lips using the back of my palm, but still clutched the wraps in my hands, as if to prevent him from holding a vital evidence to what I'd just done— to what he'd done for me.

I said nothing, already expecting his request. What would he ask for? My liver, kidney, heart or fallopian tube?

Yet again, he surprised me by asking for my happiness, at least indirectly.

"Well," he said, eyeing the tyre I'd started calling home. "Can I... I mean, sit beside you, on the tyre?"

I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak. I didn't want him to interprete my emotion as being too cheerful. I felt his soft landing.

"You've still not said a word but I get it," he said. "I'm a stranger, and we didn't quite get off on the right footing with my forcing a snack on you. But trust me, I care." He was trying to penetrate my soul with his stare.

I found my voice after much deliberation. "Why?"

"We're more similar in ways you don't know."

His words made me remember past experiences. Everything he was doing: his action; his thoughtful words; his empathy, had been pioneered by people in my past who would suddenly stop for either selfish reasons or fear. I refused to be deceived again.