Top Notes
Mandarin orange
Black plum
Heart Notes
Labdanum absolute
Vanilla
Orris absolute
Ylang-ylang
Base Notes
Sandalwood
Patchouli
Benzoin
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Notes11/09/2021
4ajbukoshka
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4ajbukoshka
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17
Winter fairy tale and homelessness
He sauntered. Slowly. Leisurely. Not "through the Omani market" (MCPS), but through a small town, his town. And to the limits of his being. It was just after midnight and from the last shop, the shisha cafe, which had now closed, he had just been kindly escorted out the door. He frowned. People seemed a little afraid of him. Or was it disgust? He wasn't sure as he let his nose wander unobtrusively towards his armpit. Did he stink? The day before yesterday was the last time he'd had a chance to shower. To stink would be hell on earth for him. (He didn't believe in a hell in heaven anyway.) Other than that, he didn't care about almost anything. As he walked on, lost in thought, towards the city forest, looking for a warm place, a familiar face came closer and closer to him. Karl, on his way to his park bench, had apparently stocked up once again. Karl was an alcoholic, but one of the kindest and friendliest people he'd come across at this hour, when he'd better not be seen outside. Who knew where he'd be sent. (He knew, and he was determined not to go there. One day, he was firmly convinced, everything would be better anyway and there was no way he would end up like Karl) He paused for a brief moment, lifted his head and waved at Karl. "Hey little one! I didn't even recognize you, it's so dark out here!" he apologized. (Little one. If he heard that already. Hopefully no one else heard that.) "I brought you something." he pulled a can and a bottle out of his backpack. Karl's eyes twinkled and a third probably couldn't look as fast as he put on and drank the potion. "You don't know what you're missing. Boy boy, it's cold as sh*t out here." He knew that. He was incredibly cold in his jacket, which he didn't take inside with him to anyone's house for fear it would reveal where and with whom he spent his nights. He'd like to be that one guy who didn't freeze in shorts in the winter. But he wasn't. Karl gave him a hint as to where he should go now. "What about you?" - "I'm not welcome there. But you can say I sent you. They know." Poor Karl. One more time he rubbed his hands together over Karl's little campfire that the had made in a metal public trash can. Then he sauntered on. The snow didn't stay yet. But it was still freezing. The plumes of smoke rising from the chimneys spoke for themselves-and against a mild winter. It would be his last out here. First and last. Arriving at the address Karl had given him, he took his hands out of his pockets for the first time. No frostbite. It wasn't that bad yet. He knocked the appointed beat and an older gentleman opened the door suspiciously. "What are you doing here? Looking for someone?" - "Karl sent me. He said I could stay here."
He was eyed up and down.
"Little one, how long have you been out there? And why, anyway?"
He was about to leave again. Who knows if these people could be trusted and he could get a wink of sleep tonight. Better not. Karl had forgotten who he was sending where. He looked around and was surrounded by hulking figures. And he could give them nothing. I wish he hadn't given all the provisions to Karl.
"Now leave the poor child alone. Come on in. Here, we have some soup. Eat, child, eat."
He didn't take two words for that. He was given food and a blanket. A soft blanket. The fact that he was still scared was probably evident on his face. When he was done, heavy hands suddenly rested on his shoulders. Hopefully he wouldn't just fall over. He wasn't going to keel over. He lay down to sleep, using his backpack as a pillow. That way no one could take anything from him. He thought. The next morning he woke up. His head hurt a little, his back as well, and he was suddenly far too warm in his jacket. One of the gentlemen was sitting by the fireplace, grinning at him as he carried the contents of his backpack into the fire.
"I don't know what you're dragging these things here for, but without the plastic covers, the booklets make good firewood." How could anyone have pulled his backpack out from under him during the night? "Those are my school books! Give them back to me please, I have to go now."
He grabbed his belongings before the older man could even say "School? How old are you anyway?!" could cross his lips.
He was seventeen. It was the 23rd of December. Christmas was just around the corner. It was winter. Perhaps the most humble winter of his life. He set off, heading for the school where the janitor had washed his clothes together with the rags the day before yesterday. They should be dry by now. Then he would change and no one would think of noticing where he was coming from.
Arriving at the school as arranged, the janitor opened the door to the large auditorium for him. He still had pastry pieces left over from yesterday. "Don't you want to know what it is first?" laughed Sir Hausi, a little embarrassed.
No, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Tomorrow was Christmas and the school would be closed. There had to be a solution.
Because real life was not a fairy tale. In his case, it told the story of a young person who was a little too old for his age.
And yet he continued to believe that everything would be all right.
One day
He was eyed up and down.
"Little one, how long have you been out there? And why, anyway?"
He was about to leave again. Who knows if these people could be trusted and he could get a wink of sleep tonight. Better not. Karl had forgotten who he was sending where. He looked around and was surrounded by hulking figures. And he could give them nothing. I wish he hadn't given all the provisions to Karl.
"Now leave the poor child alone. Come on in. Here, we have some soup. Eat, child, eat."
He didn't take two words for that. He was given food and a blanket. A soft blanket. The fact that he was still scared was probably evident on his face. When he was done, heavy hands suddenly rested on his shoulders. Hopefully he wouldn't just fall over. He wasn't going to keel over. He lay down to sleep, using his backpack as a pillow. That way no one could take anything from him. He thought. The next morning he woke up. His head hurt a little, his back as well, and he was suddenly far too warm in his jacket. One of the gentlemen was sitting by the fireplace, grinning at him as he carried the contents of his backpack into the fire.
"I don't know what you're dragging these things here for, but without the plastic covers, the booklets make good firewood." How could anyone have pulled his backpack out from under him during the night? "Those are my school books! Give them back to me please, I have to go now."
He grabbed his belongings before the older man could even say "School? How old are you anyway?!" could cross his lips.
He was seventeen. It was the 23rd of December. Christmas was just around the corner. It was winter. Perhaps the most humble winter of his life. He set off, heading for the school where the janitor had washed his clothes together with the rags the day before yesterday. They should be dry by now. Then he would change and no one would think of noticing where he was coming from.
Arriving at the school as arranged, the janitor opened the door to the large auditorium for him. He still had pastry pieces left over from yesterday. "Don't you want to know what it is first?" laughed Sir Hausi, a little embarrassed.
No, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Tomorrow was Christmas and the school would be closed. There had to be a solution.
Because real life was not a fairy tale. In his case, it told the story of a young person who was a little too old for his age.
And yet he continued to believe that everything would be all right.
One day
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SamuelGustav
