I walk down that path, the one that leads home. The shivering cold sends shock waves down my spine while the oak tree standing right in front of me sways to the stormy wind.
"My friend, good evening," a man sitting underneath the oak tree says. I shift my gaze downwards as I pass him by, his arms outstretched.
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"Please, anything you have," he utters, his voice trembling as the wind billows his torn shirt. His exposed legs are covered with scars.
Should I help him? Or perhaps later? I ask myself within. I pause, take one more glance at him, pity filling my heart. I can't afford to give away the last dime in my wallet, so I dip my hands into my pocket, but I feel nothing except the cotton material that lines its inside.
"We're the same, I guess," I scoff, turning to the path that leads home as I walk away against the biting cold.
I lay on my bed and watch the candle flames flicker. "Oh, shit," I mutter, shutting the windows behind me.
Something doesn't feel right. Perhaps I need some rest. I take a nap and slowly drift into an alternate universe.
Here, I see the man sitting yet again in that same spot. Many walk by as he pleads:
"Please, can you help me? Just this once."
But no one looks. They just walk past his outstretched arms, swinging them away, while some kick his legs and say, "Shift! You're blocking the way."
I then see myself across the road. The old man turns around and says, "Why is the world not fair to me?"
I hear the pain in his speech; I feel his voice resonate in my heart, and I stare deeply into his eyes—I see stories in them, stories filled with pain.
I continue staring until he fades into the air like dust being drifted away by the wind.
"Hey, where did he go?" I ask, but no one answers. "Where did he go???" I shout louder as tears brim in my eyes, but still, I hear nothing but silence.
I look around and realize there's no one left except me and a large vulture. I stare deeply at the bird, gently pacing forward to get a better view. There is something quite weird about the bird—it has the face of an owl, and the claws of an eagle.
The vulture turns to me and says, "He's with us now."
I suddenly feel my feet lift off the floor and into the air as I get thrown into what seems to be a Whirlpool. I scream as I rotate within its dark enclosure before I get catapulted into my body.
"Jeez!!" I scream, jolting up from the bed—I haven't dreamt in years.
I glance at the wall clock—it’s 2:00 a.m. I feel this unease, an inexplicable one. I put on my clothes, walk into the night with the only cash I have and some thick coats for the stormy nights. I arrive at that spot, but he isn’t there. Perhaps he’s relocated to a more welcoming place, I try to convince myself. I can't stand the cold, so I disappointedly walk back into the house.
It’s 7:00 a.m. The sun finally comes up, dispelling the darkness. I go for a walk, where I notice a strange man taping a poster to the oak tree.
I pause as the poster catches my attention.
"Hey, excuse me," I wave to the stranger, but he looks and walk away like nothing happened.
I walk a little closer and I'm met with the biggest shock of my life.
It reads, "In loving memory of ..."
It happens that the homeless man is no more. I shred into pieces from within. The wave of guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders.
I recall my dream, and immediately the dots connect. I try to sweep the whole occurrence under the carpet, but I can't—all I see are his pleading eyes, his scarred skin, and his torn clothes.
"Sir, are you okay?" passers-by ask as I get lost in my thoughts, ruminating about the wrong choices I made.
I learn my lessons and vow to make amends. But redemption comes at a price, they say—a price I'll never forget.
I stand still and watch as the sun scorches my broken heart.
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Wow..this is quite an inspiring story and really very sad.