It was a grim showing. A room full of mourning relatives of a man with secrets their never know. Heads turned to me, the unwanted. Those tear filled eyes that spoke of trauma, and mine, pitiless for the unforgiving.

For the duration of the wake I had stood with the urge of exposing the truth. However, this was unjust and not why I had come. After all, I was celebrating. As i panned my eyes around the dismal surroundings I was drawn by a slight movement from the shadows. Bowed in the far crook of the vicinity stood a man as misplaced as me. He did not belong.

In truth I had expected no more than this scanty gathering for the diseased and had merely come to bid final farewell to a burden of old. That is, until I had caught his eye. We both submerged ourselves in the darkness of the wake. He at one end, me, the other. He had not been addressed by anyone and was glazed upon in obscurity, as I. Sure, it was quite possible that the diseased had mild acquaintance with the man, but he differed from the mob of unbeknown who drowned their sorrowful souls. They were as haggard as the blackened drapes that clawed at the floor, or the effortless array of pictures and props that consumed the walls. But he, he was pale, free from the reddened print of alcoholism or the lifeless grin that creeps toward weathered eyes.

I made my way to the gents following the tawdry tapestry of the carpet beneath. White noise grew louder as I descended further into the mob, snaking my way through the crowd and avoiding their piercing eyes. A glance from this range could render me exposed. With my head thrust toward hell I entered the rest room. A group of elderly men stood reminiscing about a tine past as they casually held drinks over their rounded stomachs. After my entrance the louts made a quick leave and I soon found myself frowning upon a mirror ahead of me. An old friend I cease to recognise.

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