Author's Note: This story is incomplete and I must warn you, the reader,
that I have no prediction of when it will be completed, if at all.
Sometimes when writing longer stories I lose my interest before completion.
So take the warning that this might never be finished. I prefer writing
the whole thing first, then posting parts slowly, rather than writing as
one goes. It's more reliable that way. As a reader myself, I know I hate
when stories are left incomplete with no word from the author. So I give
fair warning now. Stop here if you wanted a promise that this story will
have an ending. If it is ever near completion, I will remove this warning.
But for now, with so little written, it stays. Updates will come as they
may, as I work on both "The Way the Hustle Goes" and various short stories.
-----
A darting figure slipped only half-seen through the dark night, sliding from one set of shadows to another. He traveled stealthily, but with difficulty. If anyone had gotten close enough they would have seen a wretchedly dirty man, with limp hair of an unidentifiable color. His stained clothes hung raggedly, as if they had once been filled out by someone healthier than this starved-looking creature. If anyone had seen him, they would have thought him nothing more than a homeless bum. One who was extremely antisocial, constantly slipping away from human contact. But no one ever got close enough to see any of this. He made very sure to travel at night through the shadows, tirelessly crawling along on foot, and sometimes with hands as well, toward his goal.
The thought of reaching that goal was all that drove his bruised and battered feet onward. Sometimes he fell to using his hands to travel, too. He didn't want to lose a minute of the night to rest, with that goal so close in the dark city. He didn't know exactly why he was seeking that house, that safe haven. Not why that house in particular, of all others he could look for. He just knew that when he reached it, he would find safety and comfort. He couldn't have said out loud why. He had reverted to basic, animalistic drives. He just knew deep down where to go, and went there without question.
Creeping along in the alleys, he was almost comforted by the familiar sounds and smells he remembered from long ago. Even in his highly alert state, he felt a sense of returning home seep into his heart. Not much further to go, he realized. His energy was failing after days upon days of stealing on foot through dark nights across the country, but the warmth of his former home gave him a last burst that built up his courage enough to stumble up a familiar stoop on all fours, reaching up to scrabble for the doorbell. His strained hearing caught the sounds of someone approaching the doors and he fell back, looking up eagerly, hungrily. When the door opened, spilling light into his face, he clenched his eyes shut, blinded, but a relieved sound, perhaps a laugh, escaped his mouth before he collapsed.
-----
A darting figure slipped only half-seen through the dark night, sliding from one set of shadows to another. He traveled stealthily, but with difficulty. If anyone had gotten close enough they would have seen a wretchedly dirty man, with limp hair of an unidentifiable color. His stained clothes hung raggedly, as if they had once been filled out by someone healthier than this starved-looking creature. If anyone had seen him, they would have thought him nothing more than a homeless bum. One who was extremely antisocial, constantly slipping away from human contact. But no one ever got close enough to see any of this. He made very sure to travel at night through the shadows, tirelessly crawling along on foot, and sometimes with hands as well, toward his goal.
The thought of reaching that goal was all that drove his bruised and battered feet onward. Sometimes he fell to using his hands to travel, too. He didn't want to lose a minute of the night to rest, with that goal so close in the dark city. He didn't know exactly why he was seeking that house, that safe haven. Not why that house in particular, of all others he could look for. He just knew that when he reached it, he would find safety and comfort. He couldn't have said out loud why. He had reverted to basic, animalistic drives. He just knew deep down where to go, and went there without question.
Creeping along in the alleys, he was almost comforted by the familiar sounds and smells he remembered from long ago. Even in his highly alert state, he felt a sense of returning home seep into his heart. Not much further to go, he realized. His energy was failing after days upon days of stealing on foot through dark nights across the country, but the warmth of his former home gave him a last burst that built up his courage enough to stumble up a familiar stoop on all fours, reaching up to scrabble for the doorbell. His strained hearing caught the sounds of someone approaching the doors and he fell back, looking up eagerly, hungrily. When the door opened, spilling light into his face, he clenched his eyes shut, blinded, but a relieved sound, perhaps a laugh, escaped his mouth before he collapsed.
