The wind was slicing through his skin. He tugged at the tattered remains of the shirt which had long lost its function of protecting. He was squatting behind a tree, trying to get much of its shelter. In his fingers he twirled a crudely carved photo frame. It was made of a type of wood he knew not. The surface was raw and the splinters had been trimmed off clumsily. All four sides hung onto each other with very thin layers of glue. A thin piece of cardboard backed this flimsy assemble. With one hand he rubbed his face, his fingers moving over skin that was clearly overdue for a shave.
He moved towards a couple walking along the road. The man was walking with his arm around his companion. They seemed very happy. He missed that. The touch of long soft hair, looking into eyes he loved and those nice long walks. From their conversation he understood that they were planning something for the coming new year. He walked behind them, trying to keep up with their pace, and slowly put his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man turned abruptly, then pulled his wife away to the other side before rushing into the nearest shop.
He smiled. He continued walking down the road, and stopped near a group of kids who were playing. He reached for the smallest kid and held the little girl’s tiny hands in his palms. In it, he placed the photo frame. He held her face in his hand, and that’s when he noticed the dirt caked under his fingernails, his dark brown hands, the wrinkled skin and the very little flesh that still lived under it. How far he had travelled in time... How long it had been since he had held such tiny hands. He was about to bring her hands to his lips when a hysterical woman came running in his direction, shouting all kinds of things at him. Other people joined her as well, and two men shoved him harshly onto the road.
He smiled. The ache spreading up his legs, he sat down by the side of the road, and started watching people in a nearby restaurant. He tried to read the signboard above it but eventually he gave up. Alphabets and symbols he had never acquainted with. His eyes fell upon a man in a brilliant white coat, the cuff of a sea blue shirt peeking from underneath, the prosperous belly over which buttons struggled to hold on, gold glittering on his fingers and neck, the tip of a cigar glowing merrily from in between his lips. He was talking animatedly to a group of awed people. His wallet lay on the table, fat and happy.
Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to keep trying. He had not given up and he will not. His family didn’t want him anymore but he still wanted to have a purpose in life. He heaved onto his shoulder the heavy sack which he had put down earlier to relieve his shoulders and back of tremendous pain and soreness. This sack, was filled with the one hundred photo frames he had cut the wood for, torn his skin for, and put together piece by piece in the hope of earning a few dollars.
Trying very hard to ignore his gnawing hunger and the pulsating pain that had started creeping up his arm, he dragged his aching feet towards the man. He extended his blistered hands towards him, frame in hand and managed a coarse whisper from his parched throat. “Sir, please buy just one photo frame. It would mean a lot to me. You can pay anything you want, please...”
He forced to keep his eyes open long enough to see an arm covered in a brilliant white coat sleeve, the cuff of a sea blue shirt peeking from underneath, wave him away. As he closed his eyes, he saw a little girl in a pretty green dress, one hand holding her mother’s hand and in the other, a crudely carved photo frame. He smiled.
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