jjay

He was surrounded by filth and scum. It made him sick to his stomach to whiteness such a sight. The heat from the generator felt like a warm summers breeze, he remembered his childhood. Summer always meant freedom to a child. It was not the Yankee Doodle, star spangled freedom that was spoon fed to most. It was real. The only true freedom most ever experience. But this wasn't real. It was just a metal gasoline-guzzling generator. None of it was real. It was a trick and he had fell for it. But not any more, he would no longer be a sucker. The stench from the filth around him had joined forces with the heat from the generator and had become more potent than ever. He could no longer handle it. His nostrils burned and the sickness in his stomach over took him. Heave and than again, it burned his throat. His lungs felt like they would explode from the lack of life he ingested. One last heave and it was over. He felt better. He felt clean.

This feeling didn't last long though. He looked around, it still surrounded him. It was everywhere. There was nothing pure in sight. He longed to be somewhere clean, He thought back to the hospital. Even there he was surrounded by filth. It was even worse there. There the filth stalked the halls and asked questions. Where he thought, where can I escape? Sadly he already knew the answer to his question. There is no escape. He knew this from the beginning. Ever since the truth had been revealed to him he had known. Deep down in the furthest part of his body the truth hid. It was a helpless feeling really. At the time it became clear he didn't want to believe it. He wanted to hope, to believe that things were better somewhere else. It was a classic chasing the pot of gold story. But there was no pot of gold, at least not in this world and not for him. Hope dies last, he thought. It was gone. He had no reason to even move or for that matter breathe. He fell to the ground and huddled against the wall. They pored out his face as he sat there trying to think of a reason to go on, to get up. It was no use, even tears didn't help, but they were uncontrollable. The bodys way of saying it was over. He sat there crying because it was the only thing he could do. The tears mourned the death of hope because he couldn't.