'Untitled'

1

Things can be considered strange, yet be completely and utterly normal, natural or caused by humans – therefore shouldn't really be thought to be strange in the first place. Like a disfigured girl, with half a nose because some bully tried to burn it off for her natural choices. Did he do it because he thought she was strange? If he did, then why did he burn her face and let her have more people think she's strange? That in it's self is strange. Or like an old man begging for dearly needed money or food on the side of the street. People giving him looks, knowing they're much luckier than he is and still doing nothing about it. Cold. Heartless. They're pretty much the reason he's there anyway. And they know it. Never looking twice, avoiding eye contact with people they do not wish to converse with. Ignoring the problems that surround their lives, that may not directly affect them; but even their communities. They don't want to know about the bad things, they only want to hear the good so that they can have a nice, carefree life. Not being bothered by human right and animal activisists trying to change, burdening them with sad tales and tragedies that they want nothing to do with. Such as the poor man on the side of the street or the disfigured girl.

But if something was strange, maybe suspicious, it would be how there's always the man on the corner, his hat down and hands in pockets. I often see him talking lowly with people, then exchanging things. Things that could be anything between rocks to drugs, trading cards to CDs. But that's none of my business, in fact, it intrigues me, and I wish to know more. Why he acts as shady about it as he does, get inside his head and find out how all his wires work. Does he try not to have emotional attachments, if his work is dangerous? Would he get angry at people talking too much? Is he friendly? What does he trade? Would he give me answers?

But, like I said, that's none of my business.

Then again, would people find me strange and suspicious for walking the same paths day by day? Looking at the same people, looking at new people, sucking in what I know about them simply by watching their behaviour. Such as how one steps is a big thing. Say you were taking large steps, you could be assumed to be late, or confident. Smaller, closer steps, maybe a small child or someone with anxiety. Off, stumbling steps, a drunkard, or some one with social anxiety, afraid of being touched by people with the outside.

Or maybe they're like me. They take steps, often one in front of the other. Not to big, not too small, sometimes off the straight, a spin here and there. Maybe they're a small child. Maybe they're a bit insane. Maybe extremely intelligent. Or a crazed writer with no future, like me. Maybe that's why I'm strange and suspicious. Maybe if I did something different, I wouldn't be so weird. Maybe I will see something new.

Stopping in my tracks, I looked up at the quiet street that lay before me. Few cars were on the road, even fewer people on the street. Just the sad disfigured girl, sitting next to the homeless man, sharing a single salty doughnut sold a few meters away, idly chatting about anything that may come up, such as the latest weather, missing plane or her new baby sister. The suspicious man on the corner, murmuring with fellow beside him before pulling a small object out of his pocket and slipping it into the guy's hand. The man did the same with his free hand, looking about for anyone watching them. His eyes were about to make sight with mine before I looked down at my feet and continued walking, hoping he didn't see me looking. Dangerous things could happen to you in this town, this city, if you were too strange. Or, more rather, being subjected to being strange.

Usually the Suspicious Man won't stop talking if I passed, because I usually did, in complete silence, and never bothered him anyway. But, I wasn't originally planning to go by on this particular Wednesday. But I did. It probably wasn't the safest thing to go down that alley and become uncomfortably the man that almost caught my curious staring. As I walked by, one foot in front of the other, the man grabbed the Suspicious Man's arm to stop him from talking. I could feel their eyes blazing into my skull as I moved on. I shuffled and shivered as I disappeared from their sight completely. I couldn't stand being noticed, but, as any strange person is, you get noticed. I would much rather be invisible so that I left no quarrel about me; but there was always someone who would find something to pick a fight with you about. So, invisibility was hard, if not impossible. Unless I wanted to be noticed. Like now.