Frozen

1.1

1.1

Imagine a world full of black and white. Where there are dusty and dirty pavements and tall dark buildings that loom high in the sky. It's a place where hardly a day goes by when the skies are clear and not being beaten up by stormy clouds of hatred. When the moon comes out, it peers down at me like a tiny sliver of evil, watching every move I make, judging the thoughts that zip through my restless mind. But the stars, the beautiful stars are the only hope I have left. They are the survivors of the harshest environment. An oxygen less, freezing and endless climate; yet they still thrive on burning brightly, not giving up. Just like me; not ever giving up. I can't give up now; I have just survived another treacherous winter. I swear I don't know how I did it; I truly thought this would be my last. If I hadn't died from hypothermia, it would have been from the amount of car fumes that poison my lungs on a daily basis, from cars darting past or occasionally jammed up for miles. The sound of angry passengers smashing their fists on the horns and the constant roar and rumble of the engines linger in my ears. Or I could have been knocked out and left unconscious to bleed to death by some other lowlife tramp that has been driven to insanity by hunger and desperation...

But.

Now imagine me: a scrawny, unshaven, ageless monster of a man. My eyes are sunken and hollow from many sleepless nights and hunger gnaws at the insides of my stomach. A slightly disfigured nose sits upon my face. Made rotten by years of drug abuse and set crooked from a monumental amount of fights undergone in the scramble for food, water or even a sheltered doorway. My face dons more scars than is countable. My cheekbones are more pronounced than supermodels and I'm forced to wear clothes that are shredded beyond repair and barely cover my back. I am more ashamed of my body than any other human being. My bones jut out like knives and when I lay curled up in a ball, sheltering my fragile heart from the storm, they dig into me - leaving plum coloured bruises there for days.

As you have probably realised, I have nothing. No home, no job, no food, water, possessions... I don't even have a family. Not a friend. No familiar face that would dare acknowledge me. To everyone else I am invisible, see-through, transparent maybe. I get no recognition, no one with a kindly face spotting me in a crowd, taking pity and nursing me back to health. Most days I don't even get an accidental glance from a passer-by let alone ten pence. I know what they think of me as they grip the hand of their child as though I'm going to snatch them. Even if I wanted to I wouldn't have the strength to, I can barely keep myself upright. Not that I would of course, it's just so sad how I'm stereotyped to be some kind of monster. The worst thing is when the women clutch their bags and speed up as they pass, automatically assuming that I'm some money hungry beggar. I don't want money. I just want someone to love me... I used to be loved... I even had a girlfriend but she was... No... I'm not ready to share that yet. If I was loved I wouldn't care that I was homeless so much. Her love meant way more to me than anyone could ever imagine. People that have everything are not nice people because all they want is something bigger or better than what they already have. They're all selfish. They can't appreciate the little things in life. And that's a sad thought.