Before His Eyes

Mark sat at the corner of Sierra and Providence, reading the paper. A cool breeze lifted gold-plated leaves into the air, dancing with one another as if they were celebrating the summers demise. The bus stop was abandoned, aside from the homeless man who had moved across the other side of the street. Turning his attention again toward the paper, he grimaced. He glanced at the homeless. So many of them had moved here since some maniac in Chicago’s inner city began to brutally murder homeless men. And it had barely been a month, too! It must be horrible, he thought.

Crunching leaves under his shoes, a man wearing casual clothes approached and sat on the bench next to Mark. “Good evening.” He said politely. His eyes were fixed on the homeless. “Odd, I’ve never seen them around here.” Turning his attention to Mark, he asked, “Did you hear about those slayings? Of the homeless people in the inner city?”

“I have,” Mark replied. “Despicable crime. What drives a man to do things of such a horrible nature?” Mark said.

“Ill tell you,” the homeless man called. “Its because were homeless. Ill tell you what, if he comes near me his neck is wrung.” He said confidentially, laying on a tattered red blanket.

“He must have another motive, as well.” Mark said, peering into the sky.

“Or…” The man said, whispering to Mark, “the homeless are just easier targets to kill.”

“Perhaps.” Mark answered, blankly.

“Dave, by the way. I don’t think I got your name?”

“Oh,” Mark said, with new found energy, “Mark. Nice to meet you, Dave.” A low rumbling filled the air. The bus, Mark thought. Seconds later, a large blue bus turned the corner and stopped in front of the bench. The see-through plastic vortex to the work world opened, and Mark climbed in. Turning his head back he said, “Getting on, Dave?”

“Next bus.” He replied. Mark took his seat and the bus lurched out of view. Dave looked around. The homeless man had dozed off. Getting up, he drew a knife and approached the homeless man.

“This wont take long…” He mumbled.