"Dusk, was the hour of the defeated. Men and women, who had fought and lost, who hid their fallen fortunes and dead hopes as far as possible from the scrutiny of the curious, came forth in this hour of gloaming, when their shabby clothes and bowed shoulders and unhappy eyes might pass unnoticed, or, at any rate, unrecognised."- H.H.Munro (Saki)
Cold, just cold...No one to hold me, to love me, to tell me everything was ok. Just the judging eyes and disgruntled looks of passerbys. But how could I blame them? How can you love something so imperfect, so unneeded, like a red stain on a pure white curtain. Simply a nuicense. H.H.Munro gave these lost people, these souls of the forgotten night, a tribute in his legandery tales, he gave them an identity, as the "defeated", he gave them more than the world allowed them. Now I stood in this nightly crowd, with nothing but a bottle of methylated alcohol and shame. Nothing. Empty, barren and cold. I was the "defeated". Born to lose the never ending blattle for success.
Taking a swing from the bottle, I stumbled away into the shadows, where only the gloomy stars stood out in the black sky, like dying becons fadeing into the night. Stumbling on the side of the alley, under the weight of a havosac, I began removeing the items from my bag- A biology text book, a physics text book, a drawing pad, a couple of penciles, an old sweet rapper, a one dollar note, and my shame- a simple note of expulsion. Expulsion from school, expulsion from home expulsion from love and life. Success found me love, failiur simply destitution.
I could still see her contourted face as she threw the crystal vas at me, as it shattered, and the thorns from the long semmed roses pierced into my flesh. As she screamed, the tears streaming down her cheaks, flailing her arms, her feet, the furnature, everything in my direction. Trembling with anger, with shame. As she fell to the floor, holding herself, screaming. Just screaming.
I picked out only the drawing pad, and pencile, and money nothing else mattered really. It was all simply garbage now.
I tumbled on the side bearly able to keep my balance under the influence of the liquor, near a small door way, with dull neon lights and shabby whoreish pictures glittering on the top. Pushing the door open, I feel into rotting crowd, as the crass music drowned her screaming voice from my ears. I drifted with the crowd, the smell of booze, of drugs and desperation filled the stale air. I slumped on the corner, nurseing my own wounds with a bottle in hand. This was a good place, no one gave me strange looks and fowl stares, or disapproving grins. Here, everyone understood pain, loss...defeate. Nothing mattered here, no one mattered here...nothing at all. Just the crass, loud music, the entoxicated laughter, and the dull lights burning through the termite eaten room.
"A king that is conquered must see strange looks, So bitter a thing is the heart of man."