No-mans hour.2

Tim stood still for as long as it took for the sun to come up. There was no warmth in the sun, or nowhere near enough. He pitied himself. He wanted to disappear. Doubt racked his mind. Where, if he did begin to walk, would he go. She made him feel as if he was a joke. He truly thought then that his existence was miserly, shallow and artificial. He lived in a cemetery, slept in a log and was the cause of so much grief to anyone that knew him. There he stood at the eye of a blizzard on a sunny spring morning.

It was all so pathetic. Which way and why were the only questions he could muster. Why should he go anywhere? What good would it do? Who cares? Not him or anyone else in this foreign place. He felt like an ice sculpture, he wished he could warm up, evaporate and disappear into the sky. He finally sat down through sheer exhaustion.

There on the lawn of a nature strip on the outskirts of this town he put his head in his hands and gave up. Bliss shrouded him. Nothing mattered, nothing would ever matter. "Here we go." he muttered, and mumbled a garbled combination of nonsense and disregard and lack of self respect. He began to cry, and laugh at himself as he cried. Looking at his tears as he wiped them from his face in disbelief, he realised that it had been years and years since he cried which made him weep uncontrollably and shake convulsively.He was finally letting something out and he was very relieved to be doing so. You could almost say he was enjoying it. On a deeper level, of course.

Then someone came out of their house and asked Tim if he needed any help. Did he need any help? Tim was so far gone he thought that help was an abstract concept, perhaps a little too abstract for him. Food, a shower and perhaps some more food to go on with were suggestions. Tim could only stare back, speechless. Did he need any help?