The children at st. Mathews street roared with laughter. This was a sight that was seen fewer times than the number of some limited edition of action figures in a year. Their laughter, a luminous light… the irony. Opala was a dangerous town, and st. Mathews street was the worst of the worst, the darkest of them all. Even though the children were bright lights, their luminosity couldn't guide anyone through dark narrow parts.
But why put such heavy burdens on such tender shoulders? It wasn't theirs to carry.
***
Mason woke up. He'd had this dream a thousand times, and every time, he woke up panicking, fear gripped, and almost in tears and in pain. He let everything simmer like it always did, twenty to thirty minutes later, he was ready to get out of bed. He slowly walked to the mahogany desk in the corner of his small spaced apartment, sitting effortlessly, he looked through the window blinds as a wave of familiarity knocked the tears out of constraint. It was hard to see him crying, somehow he had always managed to rail that part in.
Yes, some things were beyond his control- fear, anxiety, anger but tears? tears he had power over. He closed his eyes, healing with every sound of laughter, though choked with the feeling of undeserving.
couldn't he enjoy this gift once?
"At last," he muttered. "The inauspicious hundred."
He dragged his eyes away from the window, taking one glance around his room. This small space had become home to him for some years now, and though it lacked the luxury he'd known, it was perfect for him. This, he thought, was what he deserved.
He sighed, feeling tired. He’d been waiting for one thing for so long, it was starting to get exhausting. As a thought graced his mind, his heart sank. He sauntered into the bathroom, taking his time to get ready, for if he had a choice, he’d rather remain here.
He left the place he found peace, matching gallantly to face reality. With those words breezing through his mind, he roved the streets, though time conscious, for he had a date with reality, he looked around him. A good look, taking everything in and letting it do the job of making him feel like a human being again. Breathing in deeply, his senses tingled at the smell of freshly baked bread and hot cocoa, and as the smell of chicken hit him, he smiled for he could almost taste them. His smile slowly faded as the memory of how he almost tasted them came back. He shouldn't have let the festivities carry him away, he'd almost committed an unforgivable sin.
A sin against oneself. He’d put an embargo on himself for every food that he considered his favorite. He, once again, didn’t think he deserved to feel even the slightest bit happy by tasting something that could make him happy. He was a sinner, a sinner that should never be forgiven, and until his last breathe, he would make sure he suffered for his sins.
Mason opened his eyes when a little girl tugged at his khaki pants. As he looked down at her, he felt privileged that something so pure was willing to touch him, albeit oblivion being the reason.
In his head, he believed that goodness could smell evil a mile away.
"Mama wants you to have them. She says you have no pots and pans at home and since you didn't come in today, she was sure you were starved..."
The little girl of about eight years of age rambled on with the softest of voice and the kindest of eyes. Even the blind could tell, everything she said came from a place of love.
Mason hesitated, for still, he felt undeserving. But he couldn't disappoint her. So, with a smile on his face, he bent down, ruffling her hair, he took the paper bag, eliciting a giggle from her.
"Thank you." He smiled. "Tell your mom, I'll enjoy this."
And with that, she was off.
He didn't understand. Why wasn't good running away from him? why even in the worst of the worst was good lurking in the corner when he didn't want it?
More like, he thought he didn't deserve it.
With his thought a complete mess, he looked towards the last place the guilt tugging in his heart forbade him to.
Happy children playing in the fields.
P.s They say what is worse than being punished for a sin committed, is being punished for a sin not committed. It hits differently.
