So I figure I’ll start this blog by putting up an old story that I wrote. This one is about 5 years old. Maybe this will show a wonderful growth in writing ability when compared to more recent stories!
Or maybe it will show that my writing skills have dropped precipitously.
Hello, Doctor. Should I just sit down and start, like the other times? I don’t know why you have to hear this again, I know that you’ve got it all on file already. Don’t worry, I don’t mind saying it again. I keep hoping that this time I’ll catch something I missed before, something to reassure me that it’s not all just my delusions. Anyway, it all started with a man.
I didn’t notice the man until he was almost out of sight, turning around the corner into the dirty alley. Past the group of daily smokers getting their nicotine fix, past the homeless bum, his grimy fingers outstretched pleadingly for change. All I caught was a flash of gray, plain clothes that vanished against the graffiti and murky shadows marring the cement walls of the alley.
I gave him no second thought, of course; that was the only time I laid eyes on him in that day. As I think back now, I realize that I never even caught a glimpse of his face. He was simply another back of a head, no different from the dozens of clients that I see each day. Even with them, I have a name, a face to connect to, even if after a while all their tears seem to swim together.
I didn’t see him again until the next week. I was leaving the office, grateful to be outside even in the smog of the city after having to deal with sobbing parents and growling middle-aged men, an endless list of average joes lining up to present their pitiful problems to me in hopes of getting money or revenge.
He was wearing the same gray clothes, had the same black-gray hair, and was ducking into the same alley. Once again, I spared no conscious thought on him, but I did glance into the alley as I walked past. There was no one in sight.
I think I might have wondered about it for a second or so to myself, now that I look back on it. I mean, where could he have gone? At the time, I just assumed that he had gone around a corner, or into a door, or maybe even hopped the tall fence in back. I didn’t care; the only thing on my mind was getting home to my bed and the still only half-empty bottle perched on the top shelf of my refrigerator.
Part 2 to come soon!