Sampson smiled as he looked at his shadow, cast by the dim street lamp. It yellow tinge gave off a very eerie aurora, making the man grin happily. When he looked back, he could see the flashing lights. Red, blue, red, blue; never ending. He turned to walk away when a cold hand was felt on his shoulder. “Well there, son. Could you help an old man?” the elder male’s teeth were stained yellow, his breath had the strong smell of alcohol, possibly whiskey. It was very common amongst the homeless, and especially in LA. The elder male with a receding hair line, missing teeth and a very dirty trench coat asked with his gloved hands outstretched.
“I’m sorry, sir. I have nothing to give to you.” Lies... The boy contemplated before walking off, the clinking of glass followed everywhere he went. Looking back at the old man, he continued his trek towards his home with no remorse. His hair was neatly parted to the left, he had no signs of facial hair, and he didn’t even look old enough to be drinking. And he wasn’t.
“Oh happy day, young chap, happy day.” Sampson sang gaily to himself with glee. His suit jacket swayed in the wind as he continued. He may have looked like a confused, mentally and physically, he was just as sane as us. At that point in his young life, he had thought that there was turning back for him, his sanity was lost, some may fancy him mad, but no one could truly understand him unless they were in his shoes.
Sometimes insanity is the only thing keeping us sane, and sometimes we let go of that fear, embrace it. The heavy machinery on the road began to get increasingly louder in the young boys ears. “Old habits re-appear, fighting the fear of fear, endless conspiracy, myself is after me, Frayed Ends of Sanity, hear them calling, hear them calling me.” The juvenile boy added a small jump into his step before breaking out into a sudden, frantic sprint.
Sampson’s eyes became dilated; sweat began to drip down his temples. “I need to get out of here. I need to get out.” The heavy thudding of glass began to get louder and louder until the boy could bare it no more. Running into an alley with the last few ounces of strength, he pulled out a large syringe, rolled up his sleeve and injected the substance into his flesh. Beginning to hear voices whispering, he ran off again, this time, the only sound that accompanied his thumping footsteps and heavy breathing was the sudden shatter of glass.
Anxiously looking at the rushing cars, the boy ran head-on, as if in a blind daze. It was only seconds before he hit the concrete pavement below. His left eye began to twitch, then the right. His auburn hair had now turned into a dark brunette and was sprawled across his forehead. The car that had hit him was now collided with a lamp; its iridescent color now was sprinkled with a metallic shade of black and red.
The young boy looked up to the sky; rain was now spraying on his small frame. To him it felt like he was being set ablaze with a blowtorch. As the life began to fade out of the boy, he muttered to himself: “Lowman is due…”