The bus was crowded. Dark skinned tan people overflowed the buss, and Gilbert could feel them staring at him. It didn't matter what nationality he was, or if he was tan or not, people would still stare, even in his own hometown.
The hours slowly ticked away little by little. The sky turned from a bright blue to a pinkish, bluish, orangish purple, to complete darkness the whole time he was on. The stars weren't visible, because of the city's lights. What a shame, choosing artificial lighting from the beautiful gaze of the bright stars, tearing into the black darkness of night. The man grins. He really was getting depressed. He didn't do poetry. Ever. Not when his country was taken away from him, not when he was forced to raise a kid on his own, when he was a kid himself, not when the whole world seemed to be crumbling in his hand. But he was, over this. It pissed him off a bit, but the feeling was quickly washed away by sadness and despair again. He needed to see him again.
The bus came to a stop and the bus driver looks over his shoulder.
"último niño parada." The man shouts, in rapid spanish. Gil just clutches his backpack strap. He would find somewhere to sleep for tonight, because he was sure that the man was telling him to get off. He stands up and walks off.
"Gracias, señor." He nods and jumps off, landing the rough hard ground. The few street lamps provided limited light. So, this was the place he ended up at. A small, cold, dirty neighbourhood. It looked nice, with the old casas, and run down apartments. The sirens of police cars were heard in the distance.
He sits on the bench, tiredness washing throughout his body. His backpack contained little euros, and half of a granola bar. He gave an apple to a crying girl on a bus yesterday by the border. His money went towards bus tickets and handing it out, to homeless people and blind people, sitting out on the street. They needed the money much more than him right now. He had his journal, but someone stole that last night, while he was asleep. So, he made sure to keep his money in his shirt now.
He tore apart the granola bar, eating bits here and there, and throwing others away to the birds that were a few feet away. All he had now was an empty back back. He didn't want to keep it, it had no purpose now, except as a pillow, but he didn't want to fall asleep, not here, not now. He had no idea what the time was. 11:30, maybe. 12. For all he knew, it could easily be 3 in the morning. But, he would have to wait, until it was bright. He'd stay here, under the protection of the bus stop, but leave, soon.
Hours crept by slowly. Did his bruder know where he was? Probably not. Would Antonio be expecting him? He was probably was in another country by knew he screwed up, and pretty badly. But he had to apologize. Ludwig wouldn't let him out of the house ever since the incident. It didn't matter however. It wasn't like he had a life to carry on, or any one who cared. It would be nice, he thought multiple times, to meet a pretty girl, and maybe become friends, fall in love. Settle down, and have an actually interesting story to tell his kids about how he met their mother. But that would have to wait. That would probably never happen anyway. Antonio first, then falling in love.
Francis, he thought. He would miss him dearly. His bosses already were working fast to provide another representative of France. It would still change everything though. Even if the man looked like him, or talked like him, or even smelled like him. No one would be able to get an exact copy of his weird cheese smelling perfume, or his flashy, mismatching cloths. No one's hair would ever shine like a Pantene model's hair 24/7 like his either.
Hours crept by, and soon the crack of dawn appeared. The sky slowly moved from a dark colour to vivant brights to a nice blue. Sometimes, it was nice, watching the sunset, like this. No where to go, and so lost, the sunset was like a reminder that even if he didn't want it to, life goes on, and he couldn't help it, so he might as well go along with it. It might not sound as nice and motivative out loud, but his mind had a strange way of rearranging words.
He stands up finally, scratching his head and pulling out a slip of paper from his pockets. The address right now might be his only chance of survival. He'll have to wait and see.
Light bounced off a sign marking what street he was on. He fishes out a map of Madrid and look it up. It was off the edge, and Antonio's house was on the other side of town. Great. His mind is filled quickly of possible ways to get to the Spaniard's house when his stomach catches him off guard. Food. Right. The stuff that you have to digest to live. He groans, almost a bit annoyed at the fact that he had to eat. He wasn't human, but he still had to eat within a week or two before getting hungry. He didn't remember eating since Francis's funeral. He didn't remember much after that. Getting home, taking a shower, then yelling, lots of yelling at bruder. Then sleeping, lots of that, then an argument, then getting on a buss and buying a map of Madrid. Now this. He sits down again, the memories coming back.
His black nail polish was chipping off slowly. Bags and shadows were showing under his eyes and his hair was developing split ends and haven't been brushed or groomed in a while. Bruder, or Ludwig he should address him as now after being pretty much disowned by him, came back from the funeral. Ludwig was silent, and he was sitting on the couch, still in the same clothes, a black tee, skinny jeans, his necklace and black combat boots. A black and white striped scarf was wrapped around his neck because he was cold. A vase of yellow flowers in a vase sat on the coffee table, picked from Feliciano Vargas, Ludwig's 'man-friend'. Some dinner was in the progress of being made on the stove. Pasta. He thought Ludwig would like it, after eating it so many times at Feliciano's place. Then they started fighting. He threw the remote at Ludwig and ran upstairs to his room. He stayed there for a few days, then finally left at the middle of the night, taking a few hundred euros with him and a little food in a backpack. Now he was here. He had to make a few things right, for once.
So, where to next? He was already in the capital of Spain, and he had roughly 20 pounds, he could stop in a dinner, get some food, maybe some nail polish to redo his nails, and buy some new clothes so he wouldn't smell too badly. No, he should save them, he never knew how much buss tickets could cost. He would go get some food though.
He walked around a bit, taking in some of the sights and sounds. He was near a beach, that reminded him of a Shakira video. She was roller skating through Madrid and there were fans screaming everywhere typical stuff like "Te Amo Shakira" and "Casar mi." He was pretty sure that meant "I love you" and "Marry me" Typical, loyal, dedicated fan stuff.
The sun was rising and soon buses and cars came up and down the roads, people emerging from the buildings. It must have been around 8 when his stomach finally gave in, making loud noises.
"Okay okay, I hear you, I'll try to find food soon!" He sighs, and continues on his way on his hunt for food.