Stories of the Street - Forty four

He is thinking about his childhood.

He sees himself as a little boy, running down a hillside with his hand held tightly by his father. His sister is running, too. She is holding their father’s other hand and just as they seem to reach an impossible pace and his feet are just glancing off the tussocks of grass his father stops and the brother and sister collide. Everyone laughs because it is funny but his sister took the opportunity to hit him hard as she swung into him. Everyone is laughing but he is really crying; he just can’t show it and he can’t let the smug look on his older sister’s face defeat him.

He is thinking that childhood was never a particularly enjoyable time.

He looks through that lens that helps you focus on so many different incidents.

He examines each of these in detail. Each small humiliation and each large hurt passes his gaze as he sits there.

He thinks of the times since those childhood years. The warm, heartfelt stories and films, the sentimental reminiscences narrated by so many people that seem to pull so many heart strings and he still finds it difficult to believe that people enjoys such tosh. Such lies and hurtful propaganda grind him down even when he is not watching, hearing or reading it. The thought of it flashes through his mind and he flares with anger and resentment.

Perhaps other peoples’ childhoods really were better.

Then he thinks how pathetic it is to be even thinking of such things at his age. As if the little boy never escaped from that shitty life. As if he really is in the same shitty existence now.

As a child, even before he went to school, he would find a quiet place to be, perhaps locked in the toilet or somewhere else. There he would wish with all his heart that this was just a dream. He hoped that the last few years had not really happened. He wished he would suddenly waken up in his bed, be much younger that he is at the moment and none of the horrible things would have happened. He would then be able to live a better life; one that was different.

He is thinking about his childhood and wondering how to put the whole thing in the shredder and get rid of it.

Forget about going back – it’s too late for that, now. Can I just start having a better life now?

He looks at the four walls and thinks how much depression hurts.

He hears shouting and noises out in the street but he does not want to get up and look out the window.