Image: Harvey Kraft on LinkedIn.
He wasn’t sure why it was he reached out to her that day. After all, she appeared far more disabled than he was.
At least I’m upright he told himself as he looked down on her. She seemed quite comfortable in her state of dishevelment, lying there you could have been mistaken for thinking she was one of those council statues placed around the town symbolising the history of the place. Though wanting to commemorate the down and outers of society wasn’t what the town leaders thought might be a positive town image.
Initially, she had spurned his help.
“Fuck off,” she screamed at him, and turned away covering her body with the one blanket she owned, which was more a dirty rag than anything else.
“I’ve food,” he said not offended as her language was the language he knew.
“You have? What you want for it?” she asked sitting up and letting the rag slip from her revealing a tired old breast all shrunken and showing no interest in the world.
“Thought I’d share with you for some conversation is all.”
“Conversation? I’ve got nothing to talk about, nothing to give, but if you like I can sing you a song?”
He reached out a hand, the only one he had as the other had been blown off in the war and pulled her up. She was dirty, just like her rag and she smelt as foul as anyone could.
Once up in the sitting position she reached out a hand for the food he was sharing and ate greedily.
When she ate she ignored everything and everyone around her and focused her attention on the job in hand.
He watched her and wondered what she must have once been, her present state prohibited him from thinking anything but the most disgusting of thoughts, but he had learned that not everyone was as they appeared.
She wiped her mouth with her rag and looked over at him and then burst into a song with a voice that held him in awe.