The Black

Walking down the alleyway by which I made my regular shortcut from work, I noticed a man who had never once been there before. He was a solemn man - sitting beneath the building’s overhang to shelter himself from the rain. He did not look up as I approached him and I found myself standing at his shaking feet.

I asked him what was wrong - for a man must always wear his head high, no matter the hardships. He told me his family had abandoned him after his struggles with “the black.” I did not ask him what this meant, but continued to listen to the man, for he had stories to tell. He told me of his “previous life,” his old job, friends, and everything he had once loved. The man had lost it all to “the black.” I thanked him for his stories and offered the man money to help - of which he accepted.

The next day I took the same path through the alleyway to visit the man. Sheltering himself from the rain under the same overhang, the man was holding a new blanket over himself, now only slightly shaking from the cold. He raised his head to me as I approached him. I asked the man where he obtained the blanket and he informed me that the money I had donated helped him purchase it. The man thanked me many times for this. He said he would reward me with a story.

The story told of a spirit which was incomplete. The spirit had a purpose, but the purpose was unknown to it. It could only learn of such a purpose through experience alone - thus the spirit set off to experience life. Though the spirit had rough times and delightful times, it felt it had not fulfilled its purpose. The spirit was still incomplete. A blackness began to form, a sort of timekeeper telling the spirit to make haste, for it was impatient. I thanked the man for the story and offered him money in order to further help him. He accepted the offer and wished me well.

Having the day off from work, I decided to visit the man on my own time. The skies were clear as I found him in the same alley, under the same overhang. The man was already looking at me as I approached him. He told me he was able to eat a decent meal - the first meal he’s had in days. The man told me he would reward me with another story. The man informed me that “the black” had caught up with him. He told me of his illness and of his terse amount of time left. The man said that time is simply an amount of tries, and that it is simply a way of telling you that your purpose is closer to being fulfilled. I thanked the man for his stories and offered him more help. The man smiled and shook his head and said I had done enough for him. I said goodbye and returned home.

The next day I took the same shortcut through the same alley to visit the man. It rained hard on my shoulders as I approached the man. Though I stood at his feet and called for him, he did not look up at me. A damp paper rested in the man’s open palm.

The paper told of the spirit’s final fulfillment of purpose and that “the black” had been satisfied. With another’s help, the spirit was completed. I tucked the paper in my pocket and walked home, my head lowered to avoid the rain. I did not make the same path through the same alley again.