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Fiction, some thoughts and more fiction.

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Monday, 8 November 2010

His Eye Is On The Sparrow

He was silent and still, just lying there wrapped in his blanketed comfort. He heard the footsteps, he heard them getting closer and closer. These footsteps were different. Not the hurried kind of a myriad of people walking past him. He heard the mass walking past him every single day, he knew them so well. No, these footsteps had an agenda. They were walking straight at him.

She had seen him sitting there, in his usual spot. She would often walk past, just to see if he was still there. He always was, sat there, crossed legged, amongst the dirty London streets, with a dirty street corner for comfort. He had a dog by his side, and he would ruffle the mutts coat with dirt caked fingers. The mutt would moan, and cower and draw close to the hands he knew so well.

Cup extended, blanket shielding him from the cold winter air, he begged. To any and every passer by that walked past, he would hold out his cup and ask for a few pennies. He was never surprised that so many walked straight past him. Nor was he surprised when a few more would look at him with contempt. He was grateful for the few that threw in loose change.

Their views of him didn't stop him though. He would still hold out his empty cup, blanket wrapped around him, with his dog at his side. He wrapped his sleeping bag around him as he lay in the dirty street corner.

He was surprised when the footsteps drew closer. He could tell them apart now, even with his eyes closed.

The quick paced steps of one that was running late for an appointment. The hard and heavy steps of one that carried some weight and then some. The silent whisper of one in slippers, dancing along, the click click clock of one wearing heels either to impress or just to add some height.

As the footsteps drew to a close, he held his breath and drew his mutt closer. He was tired, and he didn't want to have to face any unwelcome attention. Today was the day he had destined himself to die.

No money.

No food.

No nothing.

The click click clocking of unknown footsteps were very audible.

'Excuse me sir?' A voice said.

He lay still, in the comfort of his blanket. He noted that the voice that spoke was a soft one. He peeked the top of his head over the cover of his blanket and looked to see who was speaking to him. He saw a pretty young girl, face made up, dressed well. She was short, and those heels that added height. He was always amazed at his accuracy.

'Excuse me, sorry to bother you while you were sleeping' the pretty young girl spoke softly. He lifted up his head and pulled the musty warm covers down from his head. The cold night air hit him hard, and he took in a fresh breath. He eyed the stranger standing before him. He spoke no words.

She handed him a package. 'This is for you' she said.

He continued to eye her up and down. Rarely would someone take the time to come out to speak to him, yet alone hand him something.

'Get away' he spoke gruffly. 'I'm homeless, but I don't do drugs, so no thank you'. He lay back down and pulled his blanket back over his head.

The stranger smiled as she set down the package beside him.

'This is for you'. She said as she turned and walked away.

He heard the click click clocking of her heels walking away. Certain that she had gone, he lifted his head and pulled back his covers to see what she had left behind. His nose immediately took in the hot welcoming smell that would always meet him from next door. A hot package of chicken and chips sat before him, with a note on top.

'Just thought you might like this, on a cold winters night'.