No Place Like Home ✔

Two

A lie may take care of the present, but it has no future - or at least that's what I've been told. If I were to be honest, though, no amount of truths would ever bring me the future I yearned for. Not after what had happened. I was already too far gone to save myself, or at least that's what I believed. 

One single lie makes all your truths questionable - or at least that's what they say. But, no amount of truths would ever become questionable if only you were a good liar. If only no one would ever have the chance of figuring it all out. 

Better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie - that's what they all say. However, when has a being ever yearned for a crimson cheek over crimson lips? When have you ever yearned for pain over pleasure?

Lies are the mortar that binds the savage individual man into the social masonry - said H.G. Wells. And, this, I agree with. Once your lies come undone, you become a cruel man in the eyes of society. You bask in the glory of honesty, you are still cruel. You will always be cruel to society. But, what happens when your lies fail to unravel? Would you still be cruel? Only to yourself.

I seek validation, I won't lie to you. I enjoy being showered in compliments, even if they're half-baked. I enjoy feeling as if I have a place in this world, and I will do anything to get it; even hurt the ones closest to me.

I am a bad person.

I stared at the worn-out rectangular cut-out piece of cardboard in my hand once more, with the words 'HOMELESS, PLEASE HELP' written out in bold with a black Sharpie that had run out of ink halfway through the word 'help' - nonetheless, it was still visible. 

"Do I really need to do this?" I asked myself out loud. "Do I really need to spin such a big lie?"

I waited for an answer in the silence like a fool. 

Whose answer was I waiting for? I was a lone soul in the confines of my room. 

Then came the overwhelming rush of determination. The ill kind of determination that pushes you to do bad things. Pushes you off the edge, drags you to the underworld and leaves you to rot there amongst the devils basking in the heat of the flames that engulf them. 

The determination that urged my legs to carry me out of the house I had been sulking in for years and to the street opposite to the one I resided in. 

The community I stayed in was quiet yet somewhat packed at the same time. Every corner you looked, there were a handful of people; but it was never too noisy. It was just the right amount of hustle & bustle mixed with tranquility & silence. The community I had grown attached to; which was exactly the reason as to why I refused to leave. 

As I took my seat on the scalding pavement in front of an abandoned store, the sign beside me with a plastic cup to keep it company, I began to contemplate my decision once again. 

However, it was too late to retrace my steps. I had already put on the tattered beanie, the shirt I'd purposefully ripped holes into, and the pants I'd deliberately smeared dust over. I couldn't bring myself to look up, I couldn't meet the eyes of the individuals passing by. I couldn't do it. 

The amount of guilt that trampled me down like a power-hungry predator was irrefutable. 

I was ashamed. 

Ashamed of myself for the first time in months. 

I was so ashamed, in fact, that I almost stood up right then and there to profess my ill-doings to the silent street. Tell each and every single one of them that I was a fake, good-for-nothing speck of dust. That I did not deserve the pity, and rather deserved all the hatred in the world combined. 

It was also then that a middle-aged woman walking along the pavement I was seated on stopped in her tracks and tossed a penny into the plastic cup after shooting me a warm smile and wishing me the best of luck. 

The guilt came rushing back like a strike of lightning racing the sound of booming thunder. It came plummeting back like the first few drops of hail on a cold winter night. It came flooding back like the first few waves of a tsunami yearning for a sudden surge of power over citizens fueled by greed. 

Then came another woman. She mimicked the actions of the woman before her, but this time she even handed me a bottle of water. It was cold to the touch and was quite frankly just what I needed under the burning heat of the sun. I thanked her and wished her a good day.

"Poor man, he looks so young," an older man commented before handing me a note. "How old are you, young man?"

"Twenty four," I confessed. 

"You are far too young to be on the streets like this," he began with a pitiful expression. "God has better things in store for you. Hang in there."

I do not believe in God. 

"I believe God is making me go through this for a reason," I said instead with a forced grin. "Things will be much better soon."

"That's the spirit!" he cheered before returning to his family who sent a look of concern my way. 

A look of concern that gave me another rush of that God forsaken determination. I was going to do this and I would stop at nothing. 

I was playing a dangerous game of cards, but I was much aware that I was the last premier card-dealer standing. 

I was using the sentiment of human beings to my advantage - to bring them to their knees and overwhelm me with pity. 

Mother, father - tell me; am I still as pure as the Garden of Eden?