|
-
News
- Features
- Events
Calendar
- Editorials
- Monthly
Zine
- Offworld
Report
- Our Daily
RSS Feed
- Movie/TV
Reviews
> Recent movies
> Movies by year
> Movies by title
- Book
Reviews
> Recent books
> Books by year
> Books by title
- Home
- Worlds
- Biography
- Bibliography
- Appearances
- Reviews
- Blog
- Community
- Press
- Links
Become
an Advertiser
- Web
Site Directory
- Search
the Net
- StephenHunt.net
- WoodenRocket.com
- Check
your E-mail
- Non Sci-Fi
News
|
Just Some Poor Lost Soul
01/11/2006 . Source: Lori L. E. Simpson 
Short fiction from Lori L.E. Simpson. I wonder if you even notice me standing here, staring at you with hungry eyes. You probably think I am just another homeless weirdo, some girl after money or booze or pot. I wonder if you even notice me standing here, staring at you with hungry eyes. You probably think I am just another homeless weirdo, some girl after money or booze or pot.
I'm not. I'm starving for life itself.
Do you know how many lost souls wander the streets? Do you ever wonder what happens to ghosts who have no place to rest?
The dead who had no life worth remembering? Those who died alone? Spirits abandoned by the people or places they chose to cling to, come what may? Or souls still looking for answers. Souls still searching for peace?
I fall into that last category myself. I fell into it in life and have never been able to pull out of it.
Should I bother to tell you my story? I was a naive kid, who might have been intelligent, but who was not very bright. A shy, not that pretty loner, who dreamed of being a writer or an actress.
During my senior year of high school, I met a great guy who told me I was wonderful, as long as I did what he said.
I couldn't always please him though.
I tried to tell my mom Ricky got rough with me sometimes, pushed me around a little.
She actually said he seemed like a sweet boy and that I was no doubt blowing things out of proportion, 'as usual'. She told me I was 'forever acting like a drama queen.'
Even with my wild imagination, I had never thought that would be her response.
I didn't want to tell my teachers about the situation, I was afraid of getting my boyfriend into trouble. Ricky was nice...most of the time.
Then, one evening, while we were sitting on the sofa together alone at his parent's house, Ricky tried to kiss me. He tried to do more than kiss me, truthfully.
'You'll do it if you love me,' he insisted.
I shouted, 'I don't think you know what love is!' and got up to leave.
Ricky shoved me, hard. I fell and hit my head on the hard, sharp corner of a side table. First Ricky shouted for me to get up, then he begged.
'Crocodile tears are all I'm going to have shed over me', was my final living thought.
I saw darkness, then stars. A voice told me I had to stay on Earth a little while longer. Then, I found myself walking away from Ricky's house.
I tried to go back to my own home. But my mother never seemed to know I was there. It wasn't very different from when I was alive, except that I couldn't even get her to yell at me anymore. When she made plans to sell our house to developers, I knew I would soon find myself without anyplace I could still pretend to belong to. I began to wander the streets, like a lost soul, hoping to get someone to pay attention to me.
I catch glimpses of other homeless ghosts the same way living people catch glimpses of me, sometimes. Not consistently. The only thing people see when they do see me is a tired girl, with hungry eyes. Most of them walk right on by.
I don't understand why I am stuck here. I don't want any part of my former life, and life on the streets is not much worth living. I must have some part to play in the universe. What I do know is that I died convinced nobody cared about me and am dying to be proven wrong on that point.
Homeless people talk to me occasionally. Homeless people are just people, for the most part. Each have their faults and strengths. A lot are willing to lend ears or advice to those who need to talk. There are the psychotics, the drug addicts, it's true. There have always been folks in every walk of life no one in their right mind would talk to.
But my whole story is crazy. Unbelievable. I have yet to find anyone who will really listen and all I ever wanted out of life was a chance to be heard.
I keep holding on. I have always been a survivor, if you'll pardon my stupid pun. I keep my hope starved eyes open for someone kind enough to offer to pray with me? Wish me a good night's rest. Something. No one ever knows what small words or actions might turn a person's existence around, including me.
I am lucky. I have no real feet to get blistered from pounding pavement, though I am very weary of wandering. I don't have to worry about passing out from physical hunger. If I were to get hassled by cops or weirdos, I know I'll make it through the encounters.
So many out here cannot say the same. I hope there is some way that they will find any help they need in life. Theirs are the stories that need to be told. I simply can not tell them.
I know no one person, no one soul, can save the world. But maybe...maybe every person deserves to be noticed, sometimes. You have to use caution in dealing with anyone you run into, I know. You might try to help a person that's crooked, who you shouldn't. You might get help you never expected.
Or you might entertain some...angel...unawares?
end
(c) Lori L.E. Simpson 2006 All rights reserved
|
|
