{5 Clansin}
I walk into the place where I always meet him. A dark and lonely little house, full of regret, once full of happiness and joy.
He wants to meet me once every few months, to "catch up" supposedly. I know better though. As I sit down in the rustic wooden chair in front of his mahogany desk, he speaks to me softly in a hoarse, raspy voice.
"Did you see her?"
"Yes."
"Did you talk to her?"
"Yes."
"Do you still love her?"
"Yes."
What can I say?
I like keeping my answers short 'n' sweet.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Help my son, please, help him," a woman begs me, holding on to the bottom of my hoodie with a death grip. I looked past her to see her son lying by a few trees on some raggedy old blankets.
Allow me to explain.
I was walking back to my house,
when I saw an isanitated woman and child on the side of the road. The woman approached me and was begging for me to help her son. She looked healthy enough, but the son looked like living death.
She looks at me again, pleading me to help with her dull brown eyes.
I gently pry her hands off my red hoodie and sigh, "I'll do what I can."
She bobs her head in silent thanks, backing out of the way, and I make my way over to the boy. Kneeling by her son, I brush back his greasy blonde bangs from his face and lay a hand on his sweat covered forehead.
It was so burning hot, that I had to remove my hand.
His foggy green eyes flickered open at the contact, then droop close again. His body was writhing in pain and his lips were blue. The mark of insanitation on his cheek.
Insanitation was suffocating him from the inside to the out.
A slow and agonizing death.
His organs would eventually fail.
"He needs to be in somewhere less open. Let me take him to--," I start to say, then stop when I see the mother is no longer there. I glare at the space that she used to be standing in.
Someone's one hell of a mother.
It didn't suprise me though, people didn't truely care about those they love when it comes to insanitation. It broke the best of families apart. It's sad really.
I sigh and pick up the boy gently, trying not to wake his unconscious form. I put my arms under his legs and torso, adjusting his head on my shoulder.
Some people might call me a softy, but this kid didn't deserve to die alone and suffering. No one was there to help and comfort him. I start to walk down the dirt road, the unconscious boy in my arms, in the direction of my house.
It was going to be a long walk home.
~~~~~~~~~~
Twenty minutes and two aching feet later, my little shack comes into view. As I shift the boy in my arms, I feel someone or something's eyes on me.
Paranoia must be getting to me after being alone for so long.
I lay the boy down gently on the multi-colored leaf covered ground by my shack, to open the gnarled, old door.
