Cracked

~1~

Dull.

The jet-black haired man thought as he walks to the thin layer of snow on the dark grey concrete. He let put a sigh as his heels crush the delicate ice particle. He looks up, wondering if the world can simply just give the blessing earlier. Snowing isn't too much to ask, right? He wanted to feel each and everything on top of his skin, how every flake will cause swift shivers going down his spine, he wanted that.

Simple, right?

As he feels through the filthy sidewalk, he noticed a disturbance in his inner focus. Small vibrations becoming louder and louder as he went to his home. He hugged his black tuxedo jacket tighter and kept a low profile as the vibration becomes stronger by the passing seconds. Then, out of nowhere, something broad and wide hit him, causing him to fall down the sidewalk. He looked up and saw a mangled figure above him, dull and unclear.

Abused.

He glared at the man standing and staring at him with disbelief. No one in the slums would where a suit and tie despite it not being expensive. It shows that you're a show off, fortunate enough to be rich but unfortunate enough to still be stuck in the slums. The black-haired man looks up more and the man above gasped.

He saw a pair of unusual eyes, glaring with hatred directed at him. Even with such an odd feature the fallen man still looks beautiful. He looks innocent and pure.

"Watch it," the man below snarled the man standing flinched at the sound but decided to move on to his way.

Neglected.

With a sigh, the black-haired man stood up, smoothing out his dress shirt that he paid a lot to get a decent quality of. He walks further until a bright sign caught his low field of view. The sign is big and bright it can probably be noticed by a normal person from a mile away but not for him.

He opened a vividly lighted glass door to a room. He heard rustling around him and people talking about nonsense he didn't care about. The man went to his way, thinking a solution to his current dilemma. His options are limited due to his usual condition. All of his employers have doubts on his performance, some are worried than other but most just flat out said no.

A simple word but it has a powerful effect.

The man opened the door at the end of the hallway, revealing more rooms that a few people stay in. He walked to the left, rounding a corner, and opening the door of his overly-cheap-low-quality room. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing that no more judgmental eyes are watching his every move, no more people taking pity on him. He knows almost everyone's reaction to him.

He isn't blinded despite being blind.

He took his neatly-folded jacket to the bed, reminding himself to do his piled-up laundry. He took a gentle reminder on getting someone to do his laundry. They won't mind. Always don't. The man looks up, facing his own reflection in the mirror. He tries to analyze himself once again, he has bleached out eyes, white with a tingle of blue on his irises while a darker shade of blue on his pupils. Some people stare at his skinny, small frame in awe, wondering why he has those mysterious eyes; while some speculate it's contacts.

It's a strange effect of his past. He is blind.

Not completely blind, it's like not having glasses but it's permanent and things are more foggy than normal. That's how he describes it and the doctors don't know what his injury is called but it did make him legally blind. He can still function like a normal human being would, granted he did rely on his hearing and other senses in order to survive in the real world, but people treat him different. Once employers knew about his condition, they changed.

He hated it.

But at the same time, he doesn't. Attention is something he deprived at, giving and receiving it. For once he isn't the one being... He snapped his own thoughts when he think's he's going too far deep.

A sigh escape from his mouth. He needed to find a new job soon, preferably one where he could read something and use his cheap tuxedo. The man loves to read before his condition became severe, he loves the feeling of being in the world of words, drowning yourself in the endless possibilities it may give. Despite being blind, he can still read but the material will literally need to be in his face in order to read it or it could be seen from five miles away. But no one can make a book whose letters are as big as an advertisement board, right.

With a sigh, he sat down on the pathetic mattress he called bed. He put his elbows on his knees, lacing his soft, pale arms together, creating a cross hatch with his fingers and bow his head down. He noticed a very distractive dark patch of flesh. It looked like some sort of burn but it's something worse. He closed his eyes and repeated a phrase he's been repeating for the last decade of him living.

"My name is Schuyler and I'm a fighter."

XXXXX

A ray of sunshine peaked through Schuyler's window, shyly encouraging him to wake up. Schuyler did as told and yawned and stretched till his stilled muscles are awaken. He did his morning routine and picked out something casual, something he could breathe lighter. In the end, he chose a simple long-sleeved shirt and hand-out denim pants.

He walked out of his room, locked the door in case anyone tried to get in (to which he thought they're just wasting their time since he has nothing if value) and got in the reception area of the crappy motel. A gasp ring out of Schuyler's ear, he looked towards where the sound vibrated from.

"Schuyler, didn't see you there." said the mother of the motel. It's a family run busines which is going to fail anytime soon but they have the heart to lend a spare room.

"Good morning to you too." Schuyler greeted, his voice a void of emotion. The middle-aged woman laughed as she noticed Schuyler's casual appearance.

"Why aren't ya' at work today, hmm?" The woman questioned as she looks to the motel's log book. With a pondering minute, the gears in her head twisted and turned and finally, she remembered. "Oh, sorry kiddo, must have forgotten with my old noggin of mine. There are new newspapers delivered in, you might want to give that a try." The woman suggested to which Schuyler already have a newspaper in hand.

He stepped outside, a soft shine of sun hit him and his senses. A shiver run up to his spine, the sudden change in temperature, although its only slight, hits him. He stepped forward, carefully, Schuyler noticed that the concrete is damped. The sun had already melted the snow, creating moist surfaces for the world to see.

Schuyler tap around the area, seeing if there's a bench he can seat on. Once he heard a soft click, he got towards it. Schuyler sit downs, still feeling the coldness and dampness of the seat but he didn't pay any mind to it. Sure, it's uncomfortable at best but it's better than nothing. Besides, the sunshine is hitting him straight to his face, he likes it.

Schuyler flips through the pages of the grayscale paper, reading it carefully, line by line, to make sure that he didn't miss any job listing available. He noticed a small tab specifically for companies or businesses looking for a new employee. He read through it all and found an available secretary position on a high-end company. Schuyler could have taken a less risky job that almost guarantee a job with little pay but over some thought it doesn't take much energy to actually submit a resume, if he doesn't get picked for the interview, then he'll find another job if he does then he'll see from there.

Schuyler thought on how does a company, especially a high-end one, found its way in the newspaper. Those companies tend to just give out flyers or post it online or their websites for a job hiring.

Maybe they're just desperate, Schuyler thinks inside.

With a sigh, he stood up and walked towards his free room. He really is grateful that the old couple running the place let him stay at the room, for free at that. They said it's the least they can do but they've already done so much more.

Schuyler opens the door of his room, so deep in thought, not noticing he already arrived at his destination. He gathered his resume (which he has multiple copies of) and took his suit. He bid the daughter, who is now taking care of the front desk, goodbye.

Guess it's worth the shot.