“The Stranger on the Corner”

A strange person stood on the corner of the room. I spotted him, or her, as I walked by through the barely lit abandoned house. It was a man, distinguished by his buzz cut haircut and growing veins in his left forearm which pulsated every time he made the slightest movement. A black shawl covered his back, up to his elbow and down to his knees, the man clutched it as if it were his life. In a brief motion, it was revealed, his right arm was bleeding profusely. Drop after drop slid down his holed khaki cargo pants, one by one being absorbed before reaching his knees. Once, a droplet of blood fell down to his raggedy shoes and the strange man cursed as if his only problem was a blood stained boot. With the bit of breath I had, a gasp escaped my mouth and I was discovered as I stumbled for words to explain why I was creeping on an unknown man. I proceeded to turn on the lights as he turned around to reveal his true appearance. A grimy face was disclosed, worry and age lines dancing around his features as he processed the fact that he had been uncovered. A fine nose was at the center of an almost perfectly symmetrical visage, a harsh jawline shaping his face and full pink lips to complement it. Daunting blue eyes, almost green from the reflection of my blouse, sat right under thick eyebrows which seemed to almost want to curl into each other as he bombarded me with questions. As soon as I had time to compose myself I noticed his muscled torso covered by a green camouflaged shirt also perfused with blood stains and holes. His collected manner made it hard to assume all the blood spread throughout his clothes was his own. As he reached to turn the light back off his shawl slid off and there was revealed, a gunshot wound on his right shoulder with no obvious exit wound. His shirt was cut off at the arms, publicizing his commitment to a rigorous workout and colorful ink drawings. Various inked markings depicted an ensemble of crying women all around his bicep with names written across their foreheads and roses in their hands. I left, knowing I had encountered a broken man with no way to fix him.

 

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