Repulsion

The dark red on the back of my calves was caked, congealed, dry and sticky. The blood dripped from the cuts in intricate crossed lattice patterns. An enormous, wide scrape tore up my back, from my narrow shoulders to the center of my spine.

I fell. I told them. We're busy. In a moment, they replied. Couldn't they see that my body hurt? Now?

They didn't notice me walking away. The clear grey sky blanketed the earth; the waves crashed on the sandy shore behind me as I left.

I wandered through the fair. Booths sold food and trinkets, offered games for a penny. Looking ragged, I supposed that the faces, of people around me I could not see, displayed expressions of disgust. I didn't intend for my body to look this way.

To spare them the repulsion of my presence, I opened the dark metal door looming to my right. Peering inside the large warehouse building, my eyes ran along the fenced walkway leading down to unknown depths. After 30 feet or so, a locked gate blocked the passage. If I went in, I would not get very far.

I turned and drifted, aimlessly, in the other direction.