Whenever he saw her, he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help his heart smile. Physically you probably wouldn’t notice anything. One could argue that quite the opposite was the case even. When people saw him, they saw darkness and hatred. Steely eyes, eyebrows tight and eyes resigned. He couldn’t help it though, the past shaped every man and woman in its own way. And his past was filled with people looking at him in disgust. For a long time, he didn’t understand. Why they’d look at him as though he was vermin. As if he was a ticking time bomb that might go off anytime. When he was younger, he’d greet the people on the street, he’d say “Hello” in a cheery voice and would smile at them. Few would greet him back and always with an air of confusion. And the older he became, the less people would greet him back, just look at him with eyes filled by hatred and disgust. After a while, he could sense it even. He thought that might be when it started. When his happiness and the hope for a better fut
A voice from deep within asked him: "What is it that makes you whole?" In an empty desert, on a path chosen long ago, he stopped for a moment. He didn't wonder who the voice belonged to, he already knew. He always knew when his conscience was talking. As always, it kept taunting him or at least he thought it was. "I've given up on being whole long ago, I've accepted it... to be broken, to have fallen..." His voice was weary, tired even. Not from the endless walking, but from this ever repeating cycle of questioning. In a way, his answer felt rehearsed. This didn't justify thinking, so he didn't. An auto-response to an auto-generated series of questions. He had no answers, so why bother. "Must be nice, running away, avoiding the difficult questions, but there is an obvious flaw in your reasoning." Sometimes it scared him, this invisible voice. Ever so often, it would try to break the cycle by approaching him from new angles.