What if I wasn't here

I'm Still walking

"Mummy come push me," a little girl says sitting on the swing set waiting for her mother to come to her aid. I'm sitting in my normal spot on the weathered wooden bench in Nimue Park. It's a small park where very few people come to, most people only come on the weekends. I used to sit in the wooden castle playset and draw what was happening around me but now I have settled for the bench as I can see everything that happens in the park and the roads surrounding it. Greg, the friendly neighbourhood dunk sits at the corner of one of the parallel roads to the park. He holds his already empty beer bottle up to cheer's any passerby's and puts on display all of his already drunk bottles as if proud of what he has accomplished in his life, a row of neatly stacked empty beer bottles stacked in height order. Most people when passing are impressed at how he has managed to turn empty glass bottles into some kind of art thinking it took him a while to drink and collect all those bottles when the truth is it has only taken him from early this morning. When I think about it properly everyone in this suburb could be the friendly neighbourhood drunk, but Greg's the friendliest so I've given him that name. You can see Nimue Park from my apartment, normally when looking at things from a distance they seem smaller than they actually are but it is the opposite for this park. I see a massive open wide green space from my window, that's the reason I got drawn to this park when I first saw it. A patch of green space consisting in amongst the greys of the modern world, but really the closer you get the smaller it seems to become. You see everything in more detail. There are bottle caps scattered across the grass with cigarette buds and glass shards mixed in with them. The smell of fresh vomit of someone's hangover from last night that probably went on into the wee hours of the morning still lingers in the air. Just another reminder of how even the most innocent things or places cannot be shielded from the dangerous mess us humans have created. The mother and daughter have now left the park, the mother probably wanting to get back to there home before all the creeps start coming home from work. Jesus, time really does move fast when you are just thinking to your self. A droplet of rain falls on my sketchbook, "well I guess that's my cue to leave". I get off the creaky old bench and head on my way home. I pass Greg on my route, he has three new bottles set up in his artwork already. I place a dollar that I found on the ground, whilst sitting in the park in one of his bottles. Not that he would notice he's already far too drunk and has already passed out from the amount of alcohol. There's no point in me calling for help, this is the regular for him he will wake up in a few hours with a migraine and a nice surprise of the dollar that I have left him. He will most likely wake up and not even give one thought as to who could have given him the dollar. He could use the money more than I could, even though I know it will probably go towards his next beverage I hope someday something good may come out of it. Maybe he will become a famous artist using junk he found from the street, and he will make so much cash he won't have to live on the streets either just to save money to pay for alcohol instead of rent. Imagine if that happened maybe I would have something to say then. Hey, I lived just down the street from that famous artist I even gave him a dollar once. Yeah, what a crappy story that would be, well it would be better than what I've got so far. The rusty gate to my apartment complex squeaks as I open it and make my way to the lobby. It's raining even harder now the sky has gone a dark shade of grey, it looks like I'm in for a storm tonight. I stare up at the stairs and start making my way up them, only 9 more floors to go.

I make it into my apartment my entire body drenched in rain. I hang my coat on the hooks by my door that looks like they could fall anyway now and make my way to the lounge room. I dramatically spread my body along my couch not caring about getting the sofa wet and turn the box set tv on. "Looks like it's a good night to stay in folks, it seems that we are looking at a thunderstorm tonight with heavy rains that could reach to almost over two months of rain overnight. So stay inside I would suggest you rug up with a good book or a movie and be careful. Weather like this can be dangerous if you are caught outside in it. And that's all we have for you tonight please join us tomorrow for our morning headlines, this has been 88 news, goodnight" the weather reporter says as the screen goes to show the logo. I switch off the television and make my way to the bathroom. "Looks like I'm calling it an early night tonight" as I say grabbing my towel and getting ready for a nice warm shower.

After my shower, I sit at my bay window watching the people who are just arriving home from work using there files and briefcases as shelter from the storm as they get out of the bus. The weirdest thing someone has used for protection so far has been a person's own sandwich. It was so funny I even drew a picture of it in my sketchbook, I then drew a follow-up picture of that same person trying to eat his now soggy sandwich being no drier than himself. As I must say sandwiches don't make the best umbrellas. I close my sketchbook and make my way over to my bed. The springs groaned as I plonked my body weight down on them. I shimmied under my duvet and let the sounds of the storm outside drift me off into my slumber.