April

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

Keith had spiraled out of control. And now he suffered through a cruel sickness. He was in no way capable of caring for himself, and it seemed nothing short of a guardian angel could see him through such turbulent times.

"You're just a common drug addict we don't need your kind around here. Get out and don't show your face around here ever again," said the voice in Keith's head, over and over.

Flat on his back beneath cardboard boxes, Keith jerked his head from side to side. "No, no, stop," he shouted, his eyes squeezed shut.

The drug infested lifestyle he chose to partake in had festered, and culminated in his present state of disarray. Rock bottom, he lay crouched in an alley, in and out of consciousness.

"All I've ever asked is that you be a good husband and-" Keith interjected the conflicting voice in his head.

"No, no, I'll do better, you'll see. Don't go April," he yelled, while succumbed by the beastly addiction. He lay in a cold sweat.

More often than not, he tossed and turned while trembling and sweating. His body endured cringing muscle cramps. But unbeknown to him, it was unwittingly ridding itself of the greedy addiction. Most often he lay in a coma-like state of unconsciousness. Keith also suffered with delirious illusions, but none more profound than visions of vague images towering over him.

"Hey, you eat," the image would say then shout; "Now drink, you drink."

"Stop, leave me alone, no go away," Keith shouted, wide-eyed, arms extended in front of him in a mummy-like posture

But at some point, pestered into submission and unable to rid him of the creature-like image, Keith gave in and devoured the food forced upon him by the strange image. Satisfied he'd eaten, the image would go away. But only for what seemed a short time and the looming image would return again.

"You eat," the alien-like voice would say, over and over again.

Even in his condition, Keith had learned if he obeyed the commands of the image it would retreat.

Because Keith always succumbed to his body's insatiable need for rest, memories of his first three weeks on the streets were all vague, at best. Each day, like the one before, he regained consciousness periodically, hurting and barely lucid. Still, he would shut his eyes each time with silent hopes that death would replace the pain he felt.

But death was as elusive as his past to conjure up. And he had no clue yet of what had become of his past life. Not to mention the wretched horrors that loomed ahead in the new life he'd created. All he was left with were vague, periodic illusions of a glitzy lifestyle where he was at the center of attention; he instinctively smiled as he lay motionless in a coma-like sleep.

In spite of the anger and hatred he'd developed for the despicable life he'd conjured up, it seemed with each new day that Keith survived came more relief from the awful pain and addictions. And he began to gain a better understanding of the conditions surrounding his new reality.

This morning for the first time, Keith was awakened by the sound of a screen door slamming in the distance. It came from across the alley where he lay. He was lucid enough now to know that something was awfully wrong in his life. And he felt strongly that it all had to be an awful dream. He stared at the cardboard he lay on and thin blanket and cardboard that covered his aching body. Where was he? And how did he get there, he wondered, and had no idea of how long he'd been there?

Petrified, he turned and stared at the man who walked slowly toward him. Anxious, he sat himself up as best he could, and with wide, concerned eyes, he waited. The man stood over Keith and handed him the brown bag and bottled water from his extended hands.

The short, medium built man loomed over him, and then said, "You eat." And he followed that stern order with gestures from his freed hands. And referring to the water he'd just handed Keith, the man pointed and said, "You drink all of it."

Keith shook his aching head almost to no end, yet the image before him, the alley, and his pathetic situation were all still present. How could he have landed here, he thought?

The stranger had given Keith a meal. But more than that, he'd given him a fighting chance to live. "Umm," the man muttered. He looked Keith over closely. But his next set of orders would make Keith realize that his present situation only served as a prelude to a new life spawned on the heels of his over indulgence.

The stranger then pointed toward the busy street in front of the restaurant across the alley and said, "You must go from here. You much better now, move on." After both his hands swept toward the street, the short Oriental man walked back toward the rear door of the restaurant from where he came, but then stopped. "You not here tomorrow, you go," he said. His right hand was extended and waving toward the alley's exit to the main street.

Keith waited silently while the man reentered the building then removed the contents of the brown bag and devoured it all before drinking the water. But presently unconcerned with the man's orders to leave, Keith's body melted beneath the thin blanket and cardboard-he would rest for hours.

He'd had all day to think about it. And though barely mobile, Keith was up and on his feet. He'd made his way to the rear door of the restaurant. His head was situated inside the partially opened screen door where the Oriental man had disappeared to earlier that day. With a raised chin his eyes swept the busy kitchen area, and then their eyes met.

Neither man spoke a word. They each appeared to leave it to their telling eyes to say what ever words needed to be said. The Oriental man inside finally gave one quick nod of his head. Keith, still staring and void of expression returned a shallow nod and a broken smile.

He backed away, nodded his head again and closed the door behind him. It had dawned on Keith earlier that morning that the image he'd been seeing during his state of delusion was not an illusion at all. And the reason death had been so elusive, he concluded, was due to the efforts of the Oriental man, who each day forced him to eat and drink. And though primitive, he also provided him a make-shift bed to lay his head.

An odd feeling came over Keith. And though he had no recollection of the man he himself was before now, he felt a strong sense of gratitude. And what the Oriental man had done for him had wedged a place in his heart forever.

Still, one question remained: who was he? Only bits and pieces of what must have been a previous life raced through his mind. But making sense of it seemed all but impossible to him.

Even then, however, after Keith had suffered through the worst of his crisis, he was still only strong enough to drag himself from alley to alley. Later that evening, after hiding in shame from the rest of society all day, Keith headed out of the alley system, but to nowhere in particular. And having no clue as to how to survive life on the streets, he turned and headed back under the cover of the alley systems.

That night he stood all alone on a dark street corner. His sorrow filled drooped eyes swept from left to right between two alleys just up ahead of him. His head and neck...