Virus VI

He wore a rust coloured cap. His wool collar was pulled up high to keep away the rain, to protect his neck from the cold. The nothing man stood in line with other nothing men where they waited for food. The shelter fed the viral young, their memories stolen in fever and weakness. All they had was a sense of what once was.

 

There was no spirit inside to hold up his soul

...no spirit to hold him above the sickness and madness

The nothing man moved one step ahead with the other nothing men. He thought he could see inside their heads. See the jangle of nonsensical thoughts. See the rancour of life scolding the deafness of weeping death. 

He saw a human face in the distance...and wondered if she was the fiance he once knew. He wondered if she too was lost in the fever, the weakness, the viral void of a nothing woman. 

He watched her in her kindness. Her white robe  made him sense what once was, what should have been. That time not so long ago, when he grew his hair long, his beard nearly touching their souls.

Like the lonely dancer in Atlantic City, he watched through the lure of a smoky window on Main Street...