I dwell where most don’t dare to linger, in the dark corners of this earth where light is an unwelcomed guest. I live in the mystery, the unknown, the emptiness of space. My home is on the red-line, in the corner between the T-mobile poster and the tattered fliers where time had worn away the ink, erasing the intruding words, their purpose, and leaving them blank like this place.
I laid crucified on my hard concrete bed, staring blindly into the flickering fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling of the platform. On and off, on and off, on and off they went, as my ever fading light does within. With each occurrence as my light fades to black, the moments I wait for my conscience to illuminate, lengthens.
Drawing in my legs and placing my hands beneath me, I lifted myself from the ground. With a swipe of my hand, I dusted off the debris that had attached itself to the back of my old, tattered khakis as I slept through the dark. A crumb here, an old cigarette bud there, and so on, all reminders of the inescapable fact that I was the owner of nothing more than the remnants of what once was anothers, or better still that I was nothing more than the trash left behind by others. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” oh how those words taunted my very existence.
Stretching out my limbs I let a small yawn leak from my throat. And placing my hands in the small of my back I pushed with the slightest pressure, the sound of a small crack fading into the emptiness. I turned around and gathered the what once was a white shirt that had now acquired a tarnished hue, and walked towards the stairs. With my head hanging down, I crept slowly up the flight and with my eyes squinched tightly, I emerged upon the surface, into the blinding light.
