Declan walked the streets of a small town in West Virginia, mostly during the night. He tried to hide from society; but most importantly he tried to escape from mirrors and puddles that would show his reflection in sun or moonlight. He was of medium height, about a foot beneath a doors entrance. His legs, along with his arms were long and thin. If one examined closely enough they could see crows feet engraved in his otherwise smooth skin. He was a handsome forty year old man, beneath all the dirt and ash sewn into his skin. No matter how hard he scrubbed, it wouldn't come off, he couldn't afford soap anyways, so what was the difference? He had dark eyes that would make any woman turn around and give him a second glance, only if he wasn't invisible to the world. The homeless are always invisible. He had dark brown hair with a dash of salt and pepper beginning to peak through. Shockingly he kept his hair short, but not so neat or clean. He had learned the trade of the family; he was once a successful barber and cop. He remembered when he used to go undercover as a homeless man; he wasn't so much undercover anymore. He couldn't stand himself, yet did not have it in him to rid the world of his presence.
Once upon a time he had a family. A beautiful wife, Marla, and a rascal daughter Zoey, and saint son Shep. Oh Shep was his pride and Zoey was his joy. Shep was thirteen when he last saw him, Zoey six. Oh, how he wished to see their smiling faces again. At a young age Shep formed many good morals and values. He already understood education was very important for him to be successful; he studied hard and made good grades. He always did as told without too many questions. He made it clear that he knew how he could hurt his life or someone else’s and refused to do anything to jeopardize that. Goodness Zoey was adorable, but definitely hyper. Jumping up and down on the couch barking like a dog at age three. Running around trying to hit Shep with a bat at age six, he hadn't seen her since. She had been a pretty good kid though, usually did what she was told.
Marla, Marla, Marla. The name rolled off his tongue when he said it and something filled his stomach with light rocks. She was almost as tall as he, average weight, light brown hair and blue eyes. He had loved her dearly, overwhelmingly, he was powerless to her. Now he was without her and still hadn't quite learned how to exist without her presence, yet something still beat inside him. Yes, she had screwed him over; being a cops wife is hard. Hearing about shootings on the radio or t.v. when he was out on the long nights, especially the rain-filled ones frightened her the most. Once a cop had died and they came to his house at two in the morning when he was out on duty. He was just out having a donut. That was when Marla decided she couldn't do it anymore. She took the two children and he hasn't seen nor heard from any family in the last two years. If she loved him why would she leave him? She should have been happy he was alright. Part of him was glad, part of him not. He wanted his children desperately and had the feeling they were no longer happy with their "new" mother, but he could do nothing about it. Not in this terrible state. He was sure Marla was a new woman now. She also did not want him anymore because she had found another man. One he had not seen, but had heard of and was in suspicion. She met this man when she needed the comfort he himself could not give her. He had night duty a lot.
It was then that his face formed a frown as he felt rage and a cold shiver of hatred. People no longer noticed him, people he had once protected. If they did notice him they looked away. Only a few kind people would spare him change and sometimes a woman with a beautiful fur coat would grant him a five dollar bill. He could last on five dollars for two days, sometimes three. Once he was even lucky enough to buy a beer, but then he remembered how much he despised alcohol. Declan saw other beggars and couldn't stand to see them get the money that they did and spend it on the drink. The rage was burning him up inside like a ball of hot flesh. He wanted to throw up. It was a mixture of sympathy for him and jealousy of others. He didn't often feel this way, but when he did it was powerful.
Declan stared down at his worn brown leather shoes, hole-filled mud painted jeans, a coat that was too big for him, and an ash black t-shirt. All he had to wear, he found it all, but was given the coat by a kind stranger. The same kind stranger left him pizza every Thursday on the corner of Summers Street in downtown Charleston. He was unsure of what this man looked like, but he was sure he had a heart of gold. Declan pulled out a small diary he kept in his coat pocket. He didn't get to write in it often because he couldn't find pencils or pens, but when he did get to write he'd often write about his feelings, the day, and sometimes poetry. He wrote realistically and down to earth. He knew it was midnight by the position of the moon. He was fully awake while the city slept, then he heard a shot.
Declan ran. Declan ran as fast as he could. He felt his limbs spring to life, the blood and adrenaline soar through his veins. He ran through the park, past the clock tower, and hid in some bushes. He could feel the wind blow across the back of his neck he felt cold, alone, and creeped out. Where had the shot come from? Who pulled the trigger? Who would want to shoot a poor, helpless beggar-man? Did the shooter think he or she was doing him a favor? He remained silent in the bushes, his breathes coming in gasps. He covered his mouth trying to hide the sound of his breath. The warm fog crept through the cracks of his fingers. It was a chilly night.
****
Xadrian was sitting in his apartment eating pizza for breakfast. The day was Thursday so he left two pieces in the box for the little homeless man. He didn't know his name or anything about him. All he knew was that for about the last year and a half he left this man two pieces of pizza near the garbage can on the corner of Summer's Street outside the West Virginia State Univerisity Capital Theater. Xadrian was pretty much alone in the world. His father died after his birth, his mother left him on the door-step of a church. Big mistake. The rich white church did not want his black ass. He was sent to live in a home for boys, but ran away at age ten. Ever since he has lived on his own. He was homeless for many years, living with a few older boys in a run down Movie Theater until it was condemned. He saved what little money he could. He was good at lying and being manipulative, he could also be sweet and charming. He lucked into a job at sixteen working for an in-state trucking company called ISDS (In State Delivery Service). He mowed the grass and helped clean the trucks sometimes when workers drove in, early in the morning. When he turned ninteen he began driving the trucks, but that lasted only two years.
No, Xadrian became rich another way, now at age thirty-five he was a whole new person. He was never quick to tell how either. Xadrian was mathematically skilled and very quiet. He understood noise unlike others. He could be meticulously deceiving. He was extremely handsome and always clean. Beautiful brown hair and green eyes. Average hieght and extremely toned. He worked out four days a week, five days if he was stressed. He was good about not drawing attention to himself and could milk away the gaze of others by dressing as an ordinary citizen. He was good at playing games and he knew it. He was good at role playing as well. Xadrian had yet to miss a shot once he perfected his trade. He knew that at some point when he would miss it would be fate. He liked to tempt fate over and over.
Xadrian remembered what it was like to be homeless. He hated it, he was always wishing someone would, unknowingly put a price on his life and take it without exepecting pay. He wanted to return the favor nobody ever granted him.
****
That morning the city was buzzing with excitement. Not over the shot that had been fired, nobody had really heard it. It was because Santa Claus was sitting on a throne in the middle of town. Children where running around with red sticky fingers and faces and candy-cane breath. The boys chasing one another with small blow-up bats they recieved from Santa while the girls played with dolls. One girl in particular was complaining because she wanted a blow-up bat.
"Mommy, I want one of the bats Santa gave Peter, not this stupid doll"
"Okay, Okay sweetie, we'll...we'll go buy you a bat, a real one!"
"NO! I WANT ONE FROM SANTA!"
This was all a distraction to Declan as he tried to write in his diary about his terrifying experience the night before. Would the shooter come back for him? Or was he or she trying to shoot somebody or someone else and missed? No, he was the only moving thing in the area, aside from a few rats and parasites. Why him? He was lucky enough to borrow a pen from a man waiting in line for his two year old son to meet Santa. The pen was expensive, he could tell. He admired it, but knew he had to give it back as the man was eying him with suspicion.
need 2 write more later
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