Communion

weerobin

THE HOMELESS day centres were either closed or their books were full – my options had run out hours ago. Now it was raining again and I was pissing wet through. The hunger was excruciating.

Rock bottom could not be any lower than this. Too weak to venture any further, I located the nearest available park bench and lay down my weary head, seduced by the very notion of drifting into a deep slumber from which I could never return.

Just as my eyes were half shut, a blur appeared out of nowhere. A tiny bird. Perching itself on the back of the seat, its demeanour was curious, expectant.

“Cheep.”

Sitting up, I replied “Sorry pal. Nothing today.”

“Cheep.” It strutted about then flew off.

Moments later, it landed beside me, this time with a morsel of bread in its beak. Insisting on full eye contact, it dipped its gaze only to deposit it. Then it eyeballed me again, as if just to make sure I knew what to do.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I pretended to put the bread in my mouth then snuck it into my coat pocket.

“Mmmm. Yummy.”

Then my wee benefactor was gone.

Infused with just enough hope to drag myself onto my feet, my day just went from bad to better.

 

Copyright (c) M K MacInnes 2017

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The Skipper

foxy

IT WAS still there then. My cardboard mattress topped with musty carpet still intact, thank God nobody else had found my refuge. The corporate umbrella, concealed by thick bushes and at full mast to shield me from the elements, hadn’t moved since this morning. Under it, still rolled up, was my four-season sleeping bag.

The flattened boxes, damp and soft from five days of use, were dispensable. The ones I had just lifted from the nearby supermarket carpark were even better suited. Now with any luck there would be no snow and I would be guaranteed a good night’s sleep, just like the one I had had the night before. The very thought of lying cold and awake was too much to bear.

I finished the rolled up cigarette I had started yesterday, then fought with my sleeping bag until I lay half shut like a Swiss knife. Safe, warm and dry, what more could a homeless man ask for. Rock bottom wasn’t always so bad now, was it. Snuggled in a toasty sleeping bag, the stars upon you, it was easier to pretend that things could only get better. That is until you remembered you were alone, so so alone.

Just as I began to drift off, I felt something brush against the back of my knees.

“What the ****?”

I shuffled, thinking I it must have been a rat or a bird. Then I felt it again. There was no mistake, something large was pressing into me. I lifted my head to look over my shoulder only to find a wary pair of eyes and pointed ears looking back at me. Tucked between the back of my knees and a large stone was a small fox. We locked eyes, both as bemused as the other, until finally It ducked its head back behind my knees. The moon winked behind a cloud, just as I closed my eyes.

All was well.

“Night night, wee pal.”

 

Copyright (c) MK MacInnes 2017