Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Seite 66

The Alley
E.M. Cooper
He didn't know why he was still there – still lying in the pile of filth that
clung to his ragged clothing while he stared into the cold November sky. He felt
the chilly evening rain pelt his pale face before it trickled into the growing puddle
he lay in. A raspy breath escaped his quivering lips when the cold and dirty water
seeped through his damp rags and clung to his skin. But he did not move when
the biting cold began to gnaw at his flesh and bone. He kept his eyes to the sky
and watched as heaven fell upon him.
The man stilled his trembling body as best as he could in order to hear
the rain pouring down around him. The droning hum of the flickering light above
his head created a steady tempo for the rain while it spilled into the alley on
streams of orange streaks. He bit his blistered lip to quiet his coughing fits as he
tried to listen for the subtle changes the rain made when it struck various objects.
He could hear the light hollow beating from the worn and rusted out pipes that
lined the brick building behind him. He waited for the droplets to fall and strike
the thick plastic cover of the dumpster at his side. The man dipped his numbed
fingers into the water in time with the heavy thuds. He felt a soothing calm wash
through him when the rain fell into his puddle and lapped against his wrinkled
ears. He closed his eyes and listened to the symphony while it played in full
swing.
From the entrance of the alley he could hear the irregular march of
footsteps slowly approaching him. The man opened his eyes and drew in a sharp
breath when he heard their feet clumsily splashing into puddles and disturbing his
peace. The dull scent of liquor that clung to their bodies drifted into his nose long
before he could see them. His tired ears could barely hear a word of what they
said, but he only heard the rain and his labored breaths when their eyes met his.
They looked down at the broken man that lay in the alley, watching his
haggard body rise and fall with each slow breath he took in. His withered and
pruned fingers tapped against the grimy water his body was soaking in while he
observed the group and their curious stares. One of them approached him and
tried to look into his vacant eyes. One of his friends reached for the person’s
shoulder and pulled him away when they could see the faint glimmer of rage
forming on the crippled man’s face.
His shaky hands tried to ball themselves into fists when he saw them run
off and leave him. He turned his head and stared at the entrance of the alleyway
and felt his anger welling up in his chest and throat. Even though he lay on the
ground he could see the bright lights of the city casting shadows over the faceless
people as they walked past the alley. He remembered how day after day they
would pass the alley to gawk at his crippled form before running off when their
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