The last of the sun’s sweltering gaze fell below the glistening skyscrapers of the city, casting everything but the tips of those towering titans in a twilight-edged shadow. The stink of the car-laden and sun baked streets, as well as the laughing, crying, screaming, cursing crowd was an all too familiar scene for the older man half dozing in the alley way near by. He absently scratched with dirt covered hands at the nearly hairless cat that sat stretched out on his lap, a soft purr like a whisper against the noise of the evening traffic that passed by.
It was evident that this man had not had a kind life. His hair was long and tangled in parts. Though he had tried his best to comb it with his fingers in his youth, he cared little for it now and the grey, dried strands stood at all ends. His skin, what little you could see under the rags he’d acquired and the beard and hair, was dark and leathery. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his dry mouth, and he had crows feet despite his gaunt face. He was surrounded by all his worldly possessions; a small yet odd bottle cap collection, a deck of cards with only 38 playing cards, a radio with a crack in the face, and a small toy guitar that was missing two of its plastic strings.
The summer heat barely let up as the twilight gave into the night. The unforgiving season had been unusually hot this year, with very little rain to give relief to the weary. The old man looked up into the black sky, polluted with the lights from the street lamps and the buildings around. Normally this would be the time he’d go and try to beg for scraps for him and his best friend, Mr. Jingles, but this night he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care. His eyelids felt so heavy, and his limbs felt like lead as he sat there against the brick and stone.
He began to recall another time, when he was another man in what seemed to be life times ago. A home, a family, no city in sight, and a sky that sparkled with millions of tiny stars. He had laid under that sky, dreaming of making it in the big city. To find love, to make a home and a family of his own.
He remembered the cold winters, him and his sisters playing in the snow, his mother baking pies and his dad tending the animals. Oh how his heart ached to be with them again. Smiling, laughing, and carefree. To watch as those tiny flakes fell and pretend that they were falling stars. To snuggle up under the blankets, warm and safe, if only just once more.
A siren blared past, startling the weary old man back to the hellish reality. It ached so badly to breathe, his parched throat felt like sandpaper. The cat looked up at him expectantly, occasionally nudging the old man’s dirty palm. Groaning, he let his head fall back against the brick once again, staring up at the sky. Hours would pass by like this, until the cat would leave the unfortunate soul to fend for itself tonight.
It was then that the man noticed something very unusual for August. At first he thought he was hallucinating. A flicker of white, just the tiniest of specks, floated lightly down. Its delicate features at the mercy of the lightest of breezes, danced and twirled as if to spite the summer’s raging heat. He held his breath as it came closer and closer, unsure his eyes could be trusted, until the kiss of cold touched his nose, only to disappear soon after. He then felt another touch his cheek, then his hand, and soon he watched in disbelief as thousands of snowflakes fell around him.
Tears welled up in his eyes and a hoarse cry came to his lips in excitement. He smiled and closed his eyes, taking in the cold embrace. All at once, the smells of the city disappeared and was replaced with the smell of pumpkin pies and freshly thrown hay. He could hear the sirens again, but this time he didn’t dare open his eyes. A smile crept up on his lips as he heard his sisters’ laughter, and their mother call them in for dinner. He felt the tears fall down his cheeks, unable to wipe them away now as he rushed towards the sound of his father calling his name.
He wouldn’t leave it this time. He was finally home.
It was evident that this man had not had a kind life. His hair was long and tangled in parts. Though he had tried his best to comb it with his fingers in his youth, he cared little for it now and the grey, dried strands stood at all ends. His skin, what little you could see under the rags he’d acquired and the beard and hair, was dark and leathery. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his dry mouth, and he had crows feet despite his gaunt face. He was surrounded by all his worldly possessions; a small yet odd bottle cap collection, a deck of cards with only 38 playing cards, a radio with a crack in the face, and a small toy guitar that was missing two of its plastic strings.
The summer heat barely let up as the twilight gave into the night. The unforgiving season had been unusually hot this year, with very little rain to give relief to the weary. The old man looked up into the black sky, polluted with the lights from the street lamps and the buildings around. Normally this would be the time he’d go and try to beg for scraps for him and his best friend, Mr. Jingles, but this night he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care. His eyelids felt so heavy, and his limbs felt like lead as he sat there against the brick and stone.
He began to recall another time, when he was another man in what seemed to be life times ago. A home, a family, no city in sight, and a sky that sparkled with millions of tiny stars. He had laid under that sky, dreaming of making it in the big city. To find love, to make a home and a family of his own.
He remembered the cold winters, him and his sisters playing in the snow, his mother baking pies and his dad tending the animals. Oh how his heart ached to be with them again. Smiling, laughing, and carefree. To watch as those tiny flakes fell and pretend that they were falling stars. To snuggle up under the blankets, warm and safe, if only just once more.
A siren blared past, startling the weary old man back to the hellish reality. It ached so badly to breathe, his parched throat felt like sandpaper. The cat looked up at him expectantly, occasionally nudging the old man’s dirty palm. Groaning, he let his head fall back against the brick once again, staring up at the sky. Hours would pass by like this, until the cat would leave the unfortunate soul to fend for itself tonight.
It was then that the man noticed something very unusual for August. At first he thought he was hallucinating. A flicker of white, just the tiniest of specks, floated lightly down. Its delicate features at the mercy of the lightest of breezes, danced and twirled as if to spite the summer’s raging heat. He held his breath as it came closer and closer, unsure his eyes could be trusted, until the kiss of cold touched his nose, only to disappear soon after. He then felt another touch his cheek, then his hand, and soon he watched in disbelief as thousands of snowflakes fell around him.
Tears welled up in his eyes and a hoarse cry came to his lips in excitement. He smiled and closed his eyes, taking in the cold embrace. All at once, the smells of the city disappeared and was replaced with the smell of pumpkin pies and freshly thrown hay. He could hear the sirens again, but this time he didn’t dare open his eyes. A smile crept up on his lips as he heard his sisters’ laughter, and their mother call them in for dinner. He felt the tears fall down his cheeks, unable to wipe them away now as he rushed towards the sound of his father calling his name.
He wouldn’t leave it this time. He was finally home.
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