A Visit

Author’s Note: My brother recently unearthed a trove of stuff I wrote in high school. I thought it would amuse you to share the worst of it. Stay tuned for a few more through­out the week.

Wel­come to my woe­ful world, where mis­ery min­gles with the tears of despair in har­mo­nious coex­is­tence. Wel­come to my own soli­tary niche where grief and tur­moil brew around every street corner.

The sky is tinted with a strange, unreal red hue. No shad­ows are cast by the eerie sun; all the world seems bathed in dark­ness. Trees line the side­walks, gnarled and twisted. Behind them, hid­den from the pub­lic eye, rest the houses in which the unhappy inhab­i­tants live. The houses vary only in the degree of black­ness envelop­ing them. Each house has two bed­rooms and a bath. There is no fam­ily room or den. Cit­i­zens long ago gave up social­iza­tion. In front of each des­o­late abode is a small yard. The grass is unkempt and dry, always brown, with the stench of death hov­er­ing above like a vul­ture cir­cling its prey. Weeds cling des­per­ately to life, climb­ing the walls like a sin­is­ter ser­pent crush­ing the life from its victim.

A man emerges from his home, wear­ing a somber mix of anx­i­ety and grudg­ing accep­tance. His attire matches his dis­po­si­tion, par­al­lel­ing his life of long­ing and hope­less­ness. He walks along a dusty road sel­dom trav­eled by oth­ers. This, the road not taken, is always avoided by man. One thing is cer­tain as his sil­hou­ette fades from view: he will never again return here, where the sun never sets but has never truly risen. Wel­come to my town, where angels of no mercy feed con­stantly on the inno­cent masses.

1996