The Lonely Man

The Lonely Man is a heart-breaking short tale of a solitary soul's devastation in a big city.

If he were still a child he'd softly sing to himself, “Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm going to eat some worms” or spend his days slaying imaginary dragons and defeating evil medieval warlords. He'd be the main man in those stories, the hero, and everyone would love him. But he is not some brave thirteenth century knight rescuing beautiful princesses, or Robin Hood stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. He is neither a famous actor adored by millions nor is he that kid whose imagination once set his world alight. He is a man staring pitifully into his empty coffee mug before signalling for the next.

Sitting alone at a table meant for four, he watches people as they go by. His eyes follow them as they walk to and fro. A young woman, aged about twenty or so, an university student perhaps, catches his eye. In her radiant yellow summer dress which exaggerates her olive-brown tan, she is the personification of youthful innocent and elegance. Every step she takes with her handbag slang over her one arm and her shopping bags held firmly in the other, every knock her heels make on the cobblestoned floor �" captivates him. Enchanted he is left in a daze until her unspoilt beauty floats out of sight. The spell she left on him is broken as a business man, in his black upright suit and briefcase, sprints by. The gust from the hurried black suited blur causes the neatly folded serviette on his table to escape. Ducking under the table to pick the black-spotted serviette up, he is reminded that he is, alone.

While everyone is at work or going about their day in their own way, he sits and picks at the massive piece of chocolate cake in front of him. Bite after bite he pretends to savour its rich fresh chocolate-ness, before he washes it down with a gulp of his smooth hazelnut latte. “Ha,” he scoffs at his naivety, how could he think a loveless piece of decadent chocolate cake could comfort him? He is alone and no treat can stay sweet long enough for him to forget it. No movie, no play or stunning view can put a smile, genuine or fake, on his face �" 'cause he has no-one to share it with. He is a million miles away from home, living in a city of ten million people and not one will gift him with a smile. His heart aches as he watches other people live, couples seem to flaunt here happiness even more when they see him coming, children's laughter is amplified. It is as if the city, the city he chose to call home is spitefully shouting from every roof-top, park bench and every sounding hooter or horn, “Hey loser, remember you ALONE!”

The delight he experiences in that tender moment when on the other side of the phone he hears his mother's warm disembodied voice whisper, “Happy Birthday my boy” or “Merry Christmas darling” or maybe even “Happy New Year” is drowned out, when he blows out the candles on the birthday cake he bought himself, shares a piece of home-cooked Christmas turkey with the neighbours cat or watches the count down to the New Year on TV yet again.

The city, its inhabitants (human and animal) and life's wicked side (life's only side) had once again collaborated to smother any hope of companionship finding him. When they, in the most brutal way ripped “Hope” way from him. Everyday as he went for his morning jog this scruffy little hairball, a mixture between a toypom and something else, would run behind him. It would follow him from the sun-beaten bench by the 5^th avenue entrance, along the path, over the bridge and around the lake. It melted his broken heart and reminded him of people who loved him back home, in all his time there this was the closest thing to acceptance he had experienced. After every run he grew more and more attached to this dirty ball of hair and could no longer stand to let it wander the streets homeless. He named her Hope. Fed her, groomed her, walked her, sheltered and loved her. She was his and he was hers. Until barely a week later, when stopping to tie his shoes laces, he looked up to see Hope, without hesitating, without looking back leave his life, never to be seen again.

After all forms of hope had abounded him, his morbid outcast existence overcome him. He knew that if he stayed any longer he was destined to die alone. Not just without love but without friendship, without feeling. In a moment he made him mind up. He picked put his thick winter coat, that was lying over the back of the chair and headed out the door at lighting speed. Not even waiting for his toast to pop up, for the kettle to finish boiling or stopping to lock the door behind him. As the grey sky unleashed its rain upon the earth - this lonely man - who just a few hours ago was trying to find some sort of peace in a piece of cake, was heading home.

Every minute seemed like an hour, every meter like a mile, home never seemed to get any closer. Tears rolled down his face as he sobbed, both because of the agony of constant rejection and neglect and because of the anticipated soothing, compassionate warmth of home.

He let out a tremendous yelp; “YES!” “YES, YES, YES,” he shouted before pausing to catch his breath, “I AM HOME!” The friendless, companion-less man fell to his knees as he was simply overwhelmed by emotion and relief. “No longer will I be lonely, no longer will life be so cruel!” Never before had he been so happy, never before had he felt so exhilarated.

Until...

He turned the corner...

And found everything...

“GONE!”

“Gone?”

“Gone,” he managed to murmur as reality set in and his heart felt as if a giant was crushing it.

Yes everything, his childhood friends, house and family, all the things he had hoped would restore his spirit were gone. And he, just like in the café - was alone.