Warriorlog #6. Reminiscing to Overcome

A Story by D.Salz

An anonymous individual writes down her thoughts —fantasy setting.

Back when I was a normal citizen with a normal home and a normal family… Back then, like a thousand years ago when I didn't wander around the city-islands scattered around the dessert �" the homes of the homeless and of those who profit from the homeless �" I made a mistake that still makes my stomach churn.

There was an old beggar, too old to continue wandering onto the next city, stuck wherever people happened to give him shelter. He jumped from home to home, void of expectations, hands outwards, palms looking upwards like in constant prayer. He lived off others. I felt this was an insult to the people who worked hard for a living and it made me angry that he hadn't made an effort in youth to not be a beggar in old age.

I took him in, because it seemed like the right thing to do. And it was. This was not the mistake.

The mistake was not saying what I knew had to be said when the time approached. He asked if he could stay longer in a way that made me pity him. This pity, plus a few spirits at the bar, and a bunch of unknown people around me, made my moth spell the word “Sure”, and regret it forever.

Pity is a feeling I hate harboring. I would never want to elicit pity from anybody. But that’s not your business.

The man stayed for many months until I finally spoke my truth and made him leave. Had I spoken before… Maybe I wouldn’t be here, at the top of things, staring at sand dunes shifting from one shapeless heap to another.

I like it here, and that’s beside the point.

I wish I hadn’t gotten ill from excessive pity. I wish people didn’t feel so comfortable making others pity them. And this last sentence, that is where the source of my anger lies. Beggars use pity to control you, they use their own misery in their favor. Brilliant of course, but what a rock bottom to hit.

May I never reach such a bottom, and may the Wags feed me to their offspring if I ever get to the point of pitying the person looking back at me from the mirror.