A man walks on a desolate sidewalk, with his eyes up to the void above.
He wears a leather jacket, thick and brownish, even at the end of springtime.
He's been walking a long time. His feet hurt. And it comes to him that he has to sit. He lightly lets himself collapse onto the first bench he finds.
It's in the shelter of a bus stop. It's not a pretty station- its windows are cracked and full of graffiti, a sickly indigo.
And for a while, that's how he stays. And watches. How fast the cars pass by in front of him, like dead leaves in a storm.
Until a small boy with a dark blue backpack and a mop of blond hair and warm eyes sits himself down beside the man on the bench.
"Good day," the man mutters. He didn't mean to say that, it just came out of habit. But what's said is said.
"Hello!" says the boy, as he turns and looks to the man with an easy smile.
The man looks to the boy with an empty gaze.
"My name's xxxxxx!" continues the boy.
"Ah, what a delightful name," says the man. He didn't really want to know what this boy's name was, but the name was indeed delightful. "I don't know what I'm named. I don't have a name."
"What do you mean you don't have a name?"
"I don't have a name. I am just a widow."
"What's a widow?" asks the child.
"It's a kind of spider."
"Ew! But how are you a spider? Do you want to trap me in a web, and steal my name?"
The man can't help but laugh, and smile, just for a brief moment. "Maybe sometime, but not now. I will tell you if that's what I decide."
The boy looks at him for a few seconds, confused and disbelieving. Eventually, he says "You're weird."
"Yes, I know. Anyway... How have you been doing, little one?"
"I'm not up to much. I'm just sitting and waiting for the bus to come take me to school. But earlier, I drew an angel!"
"Ah, how wonderful. Why did you draw her?" The man wasn't sure how he knew it was a she. And the boy doesn't seem to care.
"I drew her for Mommy, so she knows I love her very much." The boy stops for a second. "Maybe if I also meet you here tomorrow, I'll have the drawing with me, and I'll show it to you!"
"I think your mother already knows that you love her very much," says the man.
"Mmmmmn... Maybe yes. Now it's your turn! What have you been doing?"
"When, these past few days?"
"Whenever!"
The man's gaze turns back to the road. To a black car that slows down and parks across the street. The driver does not get out.
"I've been fighting depression these past few days, that's about it."
The boy remains quiet for a bit. "You know Depression?"
"Yes, I've known him some time. But how do you know him? You're far too little to have met him."
"Well, I don't know him... But one time, I stayed up very late cause I was watching the TV, and there was a show. And there was a girl who was feeling down because of Depression."
"I see... Yes, that sounds like him. Depression is a bad man. A very, very bad, and sneaky man, who wants to put down the whole world."
"But why does he want to do that?"
"Well, I have no idea. It's his fate, I guess."
"And how do you fight him?"
The man remained in thought a few seconds. And he was still watching the black car, how it sits there.
And how the other cars go down the street. So fast. And in so many colours. And without pause. And so many. It's a pleasant sight.
"Well, I have a small book of spells, but there's also many empty pages in it. I write poems on those pages, and when Depression comes to beat me, I tear out a page and give him a poem.
And the poems cheer him up so much that he doesn't even want to fight me anymore, at least for a day or two."
"Aha. But won't you run out of paper? I have some extra pages, if you nned them!" says the boy, as he's already unzipping his bag to look for a notebook inside.
"No thanks," says the man. "It's kind of you to offer, but I don't need any right now."
"Okay..." The boy was quiet for a second, until he says "I don't think you need to worry. The bad people never win."
"Yes, I know. By the way, shouldn't your bus have come by now?"
"Yeah, it should have," says the boy, "I don't know where it is..."
Silence once more.
"I still don't think you're a spider," says the little one.
"Hmm... Yes. Maybe you are right. Maybe I lied to you and I am not a widow. Maybe I am Depression."
"No. I don't think you're Depression. You're not a bad man."
The man is still staring towards the black car. The driver still hasn't gotten out. But it looks like it's revving up.
"How do you know? How do you know I'm not a bad man?"
And motorcycle hits van, and car hits truck, and that hits another, and all the cars become a big wall in the middle of the road, in which car after car crashes and burns.
And all that can be heard is chaos and noise. Noises of screeching metal and screams. The boy is screaming and crying and he doesn't know what to do.
And right across the road, in the same little spot, lies the black car. Unstarted and untouched.
And in the madness of it all, the man can't help but laugh again. And grin softly.
And after a bit, cars still crashing into cars, he gets up. He's rested his feet enough, and sets out to walk further.
And nothing matters anymore. The man puts his hands in his pockets, to pull out a book with spells and a sharp pencil.
This is actually a bit of an older poem of mine- I wrote the original draft about a year and a half ago, but I was recently revising and expanding it.
Not quite sure what exactly I mean through all this. I want to leave the meaning of this one a bit up to interpretation. I will say though, that the man isn't hiding anything, he isn't anything more than he seems.
Also- ignore the fact that the image at the top is taken at night while the poem takes place in the morning. I didn't have any more fitting pictures on hand.