The crisp air of the morning sat stagnant on my tongue. As if a kiss from an unwanted advancer it lingered in my mouth - not allowing me an escape from its grasp. The clarity of the sky was toxic to me, a festering corpse not supposed for this bright morning cleanliness. There I sat in a shadow of a building that was barely there. Clinging to the small slither of darkness that the ghost of the night before dragged with it. We were companions in the dark. Strangers after its dispersal. Left only to dance with the shadow of my own twisted mind I clung to that familiar darkness - grateful for the familiarity it blessed me with.
I heard the squeak crash of an approaching bus. The drudge of the commuters, their eyes barely focused but their scorn polished. I stared unabashed at them. For I was not one to back away from their gazes, for I was never one to retreat from a fight. Yet, I did. As the doors closed before me I did not challenge them. I did not rival them. I did not question them. I simply allowed them to close, fully aware of the power I was relinquishing - to another sect in which I shall never belong. The scowl on my face my last medal of honour. An armour against a pity I not yet deserved.
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