Deserted

“What?“

“Where am I?“

“Speak properly, will ya? I can‘t understand your scratchy gibberish.“

The man before me flicked his tongue in annoyance. I am barely able to understand his words, as they are wrapped in a thick layer of crudeness and nasal-accent. But it appears to be the language of people who love waiting in lines and banter. Of course my rough, always right-on-time mother tongue won‘t come through to him.

“Where. Am. I?“ I ask, attempting my best to adjust to their language.

“You‘re in Previl, the southernmost city of Manoford.“

Finally the question that I have been wondering all day has finally been answered. However, I‘ve never heard of this country or the city. The two armored men, one of which I just talked to, stand opposite from another, yet face each other inside the gate that is almost a small tunnel. Are they guards? Their lances sure seem to entail it.

Slowly I pass through the tunnel, suspecting to be stopped to get searched or to pay a fee, but nope, nothing like that. Reaching the other side of the gate I’m met with a sight I definitely didn’t expect. Huge brick buildings reach high into the air, all clumped extremely tight against each other. A wide pavement road reaches beyond my field of vision, decorated with power lines hanging from one building to another. People were crowding this lightly snow covered main road so much, I bump into one person after another.

“Watch where ya going man!” a rough voice stammers from the person in front of me before heading on. Dizzying, I make my way out of the crowd into some backstreets. They reminded me of big cities from my home, but this style is a stark contrast to the modern architecture I’m familiar with. Traveling along these backstreets, the facade of awe drops quite fast. Wet and snow covered dirt paths trail these spaces, along with the faint smell of filth that I only now picked up on. The tall buildings also add further to the contrast of main road and side roads, casting huge shadows into these tight passages, which even the greyish white sky can’t get through.

As if at the end of a maze, I suddenly find myself on a wider road again, though with less people this time. Now actually able to walk the road without sensory overload of people, I can actually take my time. Many of the clumped up houses appear to be shops, from clothing to baked goods and even garden tools, you could find anything.

“I wonder what this store is about.”

It has something that almost resembles a chemistry flask carved into the sign, next to the ‘we’re closed!’ sign. Sigh…I would have loved to check it out. What matters more though is getting at least something to cover myself. My fingers are already turning white in this cold. When stopping at a tailor however, I can already look at the prices through the window…30 gold coins? Gold coins? Where do people actually still pay with gold? Really, what is this place?

That shouldn’t be my biggest concern though, as I neither have spare money in my pockets nor any gold coins. I mean, where am I supposed to even get them from? Turning away from the glass window, I feel as if the cold has taken me a step further towards frostbite.

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What do I do now? I’ve just been going through these streets thinking about it. I’ve tried asking some folks where I could go to seek help getting around in this place. The only reactions I got was a nasty comment spoken under their breaths with rolled eyes, answers with such a heavy accent I could barely understand them, or getting ignored. In general, the more I explore this city, the more I see through its actual facade.

Not only is there an overwhelming amount of homeless people, mostly in backstreets with barely nothing to wear or eat, but also do people just seem barely alive, already finished with their lives. Or when I passed what seemed like a factory, perhaps? You could only hear angry, targeted yelling where you’d go ‘Glad I’m not that person right now’. Even with this red flag I’ve tried looking for jobs, but to no avail. Because either they wouldn’t have a spot for me currently, or because they offered such a ridiculously small salary that the only thing you could do is laugh. But they weren’t joking. And I was still cold, and now also hungry. And don’t even think about trying to get a place in a tavern. Their prices are not only high, but they also warn you about being kicked out, if you decide to sleep in the common room.

The coldness, now intensified by the dawn of night, got to me, and I sat down on some sideroad into the muddy dirt beneath me, close to a barely lit fireplace of other homeless people.

“How could this happen…” I curl up, holding desperately onto my lab coat, “I want to go home…”

“This wouldn’t have happened if she didn’t fire me…She had no reason to…My drug- my project was perfect. I would have had my original spark reignited again from when it was extinguished by a pile of useless bureaucracy. I could have helped everyone…”

Would, might, could…Those different words with the same meaning decorate every single thought. But what else is there to think besides how I could have changed this situation.

“Was I truly wrong? Is this what I deserve?”

Raising my head from my arms, I’m reminded of my new home. In the cold mud, sitting besides equally unfortunate souls, their desperateness practically etched into their faces. Some shiver in agony, others drift off to sleep and wake up in the same minute, again and again. And many just sob and sulk, or are just totally absent.

“Look what I found mommy!” A young boy holds a seashell proudly in his small hands.

“That looks wonderful dear…Hold onto it closely.” The tired mother smiles warmly at the kid.

All of them, wronged by life for many different reasons, though all gathered at the same hellhole.

“No…I wasn’t wrong, I never was…”

This ‘junkie-drug’ is exactly what this god forsaken place needs, a brief respite of their suffering. I won’t give up that easily. I’m not going to wither away in a dark alleyway like this. I am destined to achieve greatness. No! I already did! I just need to do it again. Every little detail of how I made it is etched, carved and branded into my memory. It’s not a question of ‘Can I do it?’ but rather ‘How can I do it again?’.

And I’m gonna prove this manager- no, former manager of mine completely wrong. It will save these people and they will be thankful for it. Even if I won’t see her again, just thinking of her face when I prove she was dead wrong is already enough.

Opening my eyes again after my monologue and seeing nothing but pitch black darkness, I actually do have to ask the question: “How can I do it again?”