Dulwich Despatch
Page 20
Creative Writing Homeless Man at Christmas
We'd enjoyed a hearty Christmas feast and stepped out for a walk in the neighbourhood. I was walking down the cobbled street with my parents when I saw him in the distance. He was slouched in the corner rotting away. The thin figure was like a broken skeleton with cobwebs all over his face. He sat there crumpled and lifeless. His face was filled with years of pain and disappointment. He looked dejected, shattered and alone, with only his memories for company. It was like he was lost in another dimension. This dull person was drained of all hope, deep in thought, trying to chase all those years gone by, hoping to get his life back. I walked towards him to give him some money so he could buy a hot meal. Nobody should be alone on Christmas Day! He glared at me with piercing eyes that terrified me. They were as dark as coal. He then stared at the ground with those sad eyes. He had lines on his forehead from a constant frown. His face was as pale as chalk and full of wrinkles. Long, unkempt hair covered his face and made it hard for me to see his all features. I could see he was a tall man, with high cheekbones. He appeared weak and could barely move since his white shoulders were so rigid. His clothes hung like a sack on his thin bones. The shirt he wore looked more like an ill-fitting dress which hung down to his legs. It was full of dust, and small patches had been ripped off. His trousers had holes in them and looked terribly old and worn. He was a lost tramp, fighting his way through pain. He looked fragile and I felt that a strong draught of wind would probably blow him over. His veins protruded on his swollen fingers. All his fingers were bent and crooked. His hands were twisted and stretched until he could barely move them. When he spoke, his voice sounded like an old, croaky frog. He had a low voice and I could barely make out what he was saying. I felt sad for this man. I was heartbroken at his loneliness. Yet he had something special and powerful. Something that was unique. I tried hard to decipher what it was but could not tell. What was this man doing here on this street? How did he end up here? Did he once have a warm and inviting home? Did he have a family, people who loved him and with whom he celebrated many Christmases gone past? And in that moment I felt so blessed to have my family walking there beside me. Ronit Nair, 8L Peace turned his head around his surroundings, he was bound up, and could hear the faint whispers of people around him. He turned his head and saw two people on his left and right, both of them were grimacing at him and spitting on the ground. Peace tried to talk but he wasn’t able to. His eyes bulged in fear. “So Peace…” Said the girl to his right, grinning wickedly from cheek to cheek. “Where were you yesterday at 9 o’clock?” Peace’s eyes bulged a bit more as his mind raced through the past few days and what had happened. His mouth gag was cut and he started to breathe heavily. “I was at my house with a friend...” He said, starting to cough loudly. The boy to his left put a hand towards his mouth, before smiling and laughing underneath it in a maniacal way, like a mad scientist who had just made the greatest discovery of all time. Peace looked upwards. His eyes hit against the wall of the room above him. Slowly he turned his head around the surroundings again, and again, and again, trying to find something that could signal where they were. His eyes shifted towards a bleach bottle that was on PCF—Perfect Crime Friends Inspired by the series in Bakuman that Mashiro and Akito make together which in itself is a manga.
(Continued on page 21)
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