It’s the blank stare when you meet their eyes, that will stop you dead in your tracks. You’ll just find yourself not moving at all or without realizing it, moving too fast. Something about those eyes. You just don’t know what, but something about those eyes. The only thing you can tell is something is a bit off but by the vigorous pounding of your heart, you get the feeling of lurking danger.
Damn, those eyes. Could anyone really look so blank? No, they weren’t staring. They just looked and that’s all they had to do. The story in that look was deep. It was real. And scary. So while you passed them, you couldn’t help but stop. And in that moment, you agonized over their pain. As if you’d been there all along, experiencing their burden. It lasted only but a few seconds but as you caught your next step on the pavement, you had a heavy heart. You wanted to weep but only a single tear found its way down your right cheek.
For some, it was too much. They couldn’t look longer. Not even longer than a few seconds. They just couldn’t. You see, they aren’t that much brave. No, not like you. Perhaps terrified that they would be drawn in by the sea of misery that the owner possessed. But even you wouldn’t blame them. You knew. You had seen it. So they did not look. Yet somehow the harder they tried not looking, that consuming look found a way to devour at them and they almost missed a step as they hurried away.
Empty, hopeless souls. Living but quickly dying. Wishing away their lives in little life-draining pleasures. A pumped syringe in one hand and an empty vodka bottle in the other. More so self-inflicted cuts, in places you wouldn’t dare. Just wherever it hurts the most and doing just about anything to drown the emotional pain they’d had to endure. My guess? From the emotional, physical or sexual abuse and torture they tried to mask but evidently not so well. They lived for running the red lights, for the light they couldn’t see.
Boom! Did you hear the gunshot? Or was it not loud enough? I mean, was it even expected and anticipated? Was it not a surprise? Somehow, when we see two people walking hand in hand, both completely lost to life and its goodness, we see it as something to be sad about. But can’t you see? They’re just lost and in their dry situation, they find a little comfort in each other. For just a little longer before hope can find them and if not before they give in to what they’d call fate. Then one gloomy day, the first boom and shortly after, boom! Did you hear it? Did you really hear it? Or was it expected, oh and anticipated?
You heard it alright. I mean, it’s all that you and your birds of the same feathers could talk about all day before and after it happened. How those losers creeped you out and how you saw that coming. But how could you have? You were just a passer-by. What did you do? Did you provide a little more laughter? Or a little more hope? Or did you just help dig the grave a little more deeper? Was there something, perhaps even someone that could have been salvaged? Or was there no point at all and very much none of your business? They say we’re a watching generation. I wonder what it takes to make us right, to do right.