When anyone uttered the word "Camden" the first thing that flew to mind, was that dump of a town, splashed across the poorest parts of the London Metropolitan Area.

They did not associate the name, with a thirty year old bald man.

Yet here he was, Alive and breathing. Camden Marshall. With a blue cap cropped upon his shiny head, his green eyes glistened in the weak sunlight as he made his latest round across the gritty grey gravel of Delham city. 

Camden walked forward swiftly, he was a burly figure at six foot three, However his true personality flickered it's way to the surface of his skin, burning away any chance he had at appearing (in the least bit) Intimidating or threatening to anyone. His father had always told him, that a man without a grip on reality, had a very poor physical grip themselves. Camden looked down to his flimsy wrists as they struggled to hold the heavy brown package and sighed. His father had died years ago, but his judging eye was now more powerful than ever.

Walking up to to the latest apartment door, on the very long list of grey, smelly, rusting old doors Camden had encountered during his lifetime. The burly, yet weak gripped man knocked the door three times, as he may have been a postman but did not give him the ability to magically shrink large and heavy packages so he could slide them between the postbox. If that were the case he would have left this dump the minute the imaginary small package had slipped through his pale fingers.

Ten seconds past. No response. 





Camden knocked again. "Um... Hello" he squeaked, rather nervously. He was a very shy man.

Ten Seconds past.




"HELLO! ANYONE IN THERE! THERE'S A PACKAGE FOR YOU!" He bellowed, not out of frustration, but in fear that they may not have heard his voice the first time. He had a very soft sounding and quiet voice. So quiet, his mother used to say it went away with the wind.

Again there was no response. From inside.

"Hellooooo! Anyone in there, There's a package for yooooooooou!" 

Camden turned around, to find a group of teenagers leering at him. The ringleader (the one that had spoken) being a skinny, ugly young man. With malicious black eyes, and a wrinkled face, where the drugs he had been taking, were beginning to leave their scars. 

"You lost, post boy?" A fat girl, who stood behind the ringleader, asked him venomously. She was slapping on a tired piece of chewing gum, between her meaty jaws. Camden didn't respond, he was tongue tied he always had been. And in situations like this he froze up he knew these parasites of people could sense his weakness. Whether it was flimsy wrists, or whether it was because of the fact he slouched. He didn't know but there were more of them than him. 

Finally he responded quietly "I-I'm doing my Job" 

The teenagers all gave him mocking expressions.

"What?" Asked the fat girl once again.

"Speak up, twat!" Another ugly parasite shouted, somewhere near the back. 

Camden didn't wait to hear another word, his quickly took off. Ignoring the yells of the teenagers behind him. When he finally reached a safe distance, his let his body relax. His heartbeat slowed down to a normal pace. His nose un-scrunched, as he was away from the stench of, whatever those kids had been smoking. As his breathing returned to normal. He looked up to the sky.

His eyes, were like Water Lilies. As Green as the grass on the ground, but always liquid like, and wet. All you had to do was push the water lilies slightly and it would sink beneath the water, the same applied to the green Iris' of Camden Marshall. It had only taken a little push and already his water lilly irises were drowning.

"Get a hold of yourself" Camden snapped to himself, as he sniffed lightly and his eyes retained a rounded shape, rather than a wobbly one and the salty tears never reached the surface, but they lingered, right beneath the asparagus eyes. 

As he walked on, in silence, his head hung in shame. Camden wished more than anything, he could be someone else. Someone who didn't nearly break down after being insulted by a few teenagers. Someone who didn't have flimsy hands, and a slouched back. Someone who had the bellow of a man his age and not the squeak of a mouse. Someone without his name, his eyes, his miserable job or life, he hated himself! 

He squeezed the heavy package back into his bag slung across his chest. After his feelings of self pity left him. His anger arose, he may have been a shy man, but his anger... his anger...

He could live with himself, if he was simply shy and pathetic. "So were others" he supposed. 

His anger made him a truly detestable human being. He loathed himself, from what his anger had done to him in the past.

As Camden raged (in his head of course) his eyes turned to dark green pebbles, as angry curses flew across his mind. "Why didn't fucking wanker, answer the fucking door?!" He spat to his subconscious. "I mean even if it was just to swear at me, or tell me too fuck off he could have done that. Hell, it would have saved me the fucking trouble of those knobheads..." 

He got out the next package, his mind still clouded in rage. His knock on the next door was more fierce, so as he awaited at the usual dull door, to clunk open. His mind was elsewhere, cursing the lousy previous owner. Who was too lazy, too drunk or too high, to get off his ass and answer the door.

He was so lost in his rage, he didn't notice the seconds ticking by until his leg started aching.

Curiosity brought him back to earth, as he stared at another dull grey door. No one had answered.

"Hello! Package for you!" Camden informed the owner. Albeit more formally, and now more wary of mocking teenagers. However this time there were no teenagers around.

Ten Seconds past.





And no one at answering the door.

It was only then, that the first seeds of doubt flourished in his mind. 

The quiet alarm that had gone off in his head. It was first. It was brief,  and explainable why two owners had failed to answer the door. 

And yet, something seemed off. 

The End

36 comments about this story Feed