This story is....well, your just going to have to find out, won't you?
The man staggered in. Was he blind? Was he hurt? I wondered, and quickly my overactive inmagination was overwhelmed with joy at having a chance to express. I walked to the man, who looked at me with a look of HELP. I knew he was not blind nor hurt for he staggered with lost confidence that his enemy had taken from him. Who was his enemy? Was it he? Or me?
I ask the old man, "what's wrong?" and there he dies befor me, in my arms. He did not speak. I saw that old man everyday on my way to work, the factory. The dreaded factory that caused so much pollution. I could not help but think, it's my fault. He asked me one question before he died. Twas very silent and I could not hear him.
Why did he come to me? Why did he adore me so whilst he was living on the streets?
My mind was set on one thing from then until the day I died. Or, I suppose you could say, I "went to a better place" or "reincarnated" or something of the sorts.
I was set on finding that man, for I knew he was not dead though he died in my arms. In my home. My sanctuary was not safe anymore. I could think of only one place that I'd find answers.
The streets by the factory.