Everyone was saying he was mad, but it was not true. No, he was not mad. He had had to run away from home when his family members started whispering it amongst themselves that he was mad, and now, he roamed the streets. Madmen don't wear clothes, unlike him, though his was torn. They don't take their bath at the gutter every morning like him. They do not eat good food like him, eating only from the bins of the rich. No, madmen do not stay in houses, but here he was lying in an uncompleted two-bedroom flat with luxury grasses for bedly comfort at night. He knew that madmen do not brush their teeth or wash their hair, but he always brushed his teeth and washed his hair with whatever detergent he could steal from any street seller. So, why would they brand him a madman? He heaved a sigh and fixed his gaze on the dark sky, smiling at the clouds above. It seemed to him that the people calling him mad were themselves mad, but even if he was to agree with them that he was mad, he would say he was a class above other madmen.
The rain had begun to drizzle and with such thoughts as above on his mind he slept off to the cold.
YOU ARE READING
CLASSIC MADMAN
General FictionEnter into a world, one of a man who is a class above others of his kind. He is thoughtful and true, but how true? The streets are his......
