It is a frosty morning, the cold bites his pale white skin. The sun is up and shining, yet the room stays dark and gloomy. The air is heavy and humid, which adds to the room’s murkiness. In the middle of this room lies a certain character. He can be seen sleeping on a large, messy bed. Curled up in a thick black blanket, the man sleeps with a questionable frown on his face. He is sweating, yet he holds the blanket tightly, unwilling to let go. He remains curled up in it as it were a cocoon, shielding him from this murky, dark and depressing morning.
There is silence in this room for quite a while with scarcely any movement from our character. But this silence is broken by a thin ray of light which breaks into the room through a slight opening between the two large curtains which were blocking the window. This ray of light, as little as it may be, frees the room from the clutches of this darkness. As a result, the frown on the man’s face tightens. He pulls the blanket tighter over his body. But this discomfort that he is beginning to feel just wont budge. He moves, he rolls, he buries his head in the blanket, but all in vain. He begins to feel his safety zone, the comfortable cocoon beginning to crack and now he feels increasingly vulnerable. He desperately tries to hold on to this little world of his, which is his blanket, but his efforts are in vain. And after a long struggle with discomfort, his eyes finally open.
At first, he frowns at the light coming in through the window as he tries to focus his vision. Now, with his eyesight properly adjusted, he lies there motionless, staring into the distance. To him, this is by no means a pleasant morning. But by judging him by his state, one can wonder, how many pleasant mornings has this man had lately? There certainly can’t be to many.
His face tells lot about him, this is a man who has experienced the struggles of life. The scars on his cheek and forehead are quite noticeable. He has a dark complexion. But by looking at his forearms, one can tell that this man wasn’t always so dark. He hasn’t shaved for a while, as the tiny hair on his chin grow unscathed. But the most striking feature of his face, are his eyes. They have a dark brown colour, not a unique colour, but there is something about them that is unique, that makes them stand out. Perhaps it is their depth. Just one glare at them and you could keep staring for an eternity and yet find not, a limit to their depth. Or it may be the sparkle that they have, something that instantly makes you smile.Yet, this man is by no means a handsome man. He is the invisible one, easily overlooked and almost constantly ignored. If he were to walk on the street, his existence wouldn’t even be acknowledged by those passing by. But one can wonder if this bothers him.
As he lies there motionless, he thinks about what place he holds in this world. A man who’s very existence is questionable couldn’t possibly hold a place far to important, now could he? He thinks about the labels he’s be given in the past. Prodigy and genius they once called him. But for him, these were nothing but expectations that he had to live up to. To prove his mettle, he was given a test too many. But in the end, he had failed them all. And become nothing but a worn out shell of his former self. His ego, crushed and his dreams unfulfilled. He is the true vagabond who just wanders through life with no place to call his own. His only prevailing goal, ‘acceptance’ which seems to be a million miles away. What is the purpose behind this man’s existence? Why should he carry on living? With nothing to live for and with nothing to look forward to?