Member-only story
Nights like This
A flash fiction story
Cold nights are nothing new, but nowadays, the chills begin on the inside and rush out of my limbs. Not even the layers of rags I wear can heat this tired body. I swallow hard, but no liquid soothes my throat. I need water, but I want soda. The bench I sit on is my relief. After a day of walking, sitting is the only piece of heaven I’ve experienced in a long time. Manufactured rubber no longer covers the soles of my shoes. Instead, my feet are adorned with pieces of cardboard scraps and torn socks.
A woman wearing expensive heels and a nice coat exits the automatic doors. She carries one paper grocery bag, and from the top, a baguette peeks. Adjusting to the weather, she buttons her coat. She glances in my direction and flips her blonde hair away from me, covering her face. With her other hand, she reaches into her pocket and retrieves a silk scarf. Instead of wrapping it around her neck, she holds it to her nose as passes me.
I do not allow myself to imagine what that woman thinks of me. I’ve wasted too much time caring about how other folks perceive me. She, like everyone else, has always looked through me as if I were a crystal ball. But instead of their future, they dream up my past, a past of drugs, lies, abuse, and missed opportunities. I can’t blame them; I’m sure the fictitious lives they give me are more entertaining than reality.
