The Alley Tome Voss
He walked down the alley, running his fingers across the cold, brick buildings. They felt slimy and stuck underneath his finger nails. He had a similar feeling about himself when he thought back on all the horrible things he had done that day. He could still smell the filth and sweat on the people stuck in the homeless shelter that he ultimately had to shut down earlier this morning. They all looked at him in his fancy suit like he was going to save them somehow. He avoided eye contact, unable to meet their sunken eyes filled with false hope. Suddenly, he heard the rattle of cans. He looked ahead, to his right, and saw a young boy digging through the cans. He looked no older than nine years old. His clothes were several sizes too big, covering his small and underweight body. He had dirt smudged across his face. Dean thought to himself for a second and fished his wallet out of his pocket. He handed the boy fifty dollars and wished him the best of luck. He walked away feeling a little bit better about the day because, despite the sick feeling this morning had left him, this encounter gave him a little bit of hope. Dean watched the boy walk away and thought back to himself at the boy’s age. Seventeen years ago, his situation didn’t look much different, except he preferred the trash cans by the diner three streets over. They always threw away the best cinnamon rolls. He thought back and wondered what would have happened if he never met Derek and had taken the money he had offered him. Would he have starved or frozen to death? Would that really be worse than being stuck in this job forever? The thoughts troubled him as he walked away. Dean hated the business he was in—building management and promotion. He felt as though he was constantly shutting down buildings that were actually helping people, only to replace them with big companies. He was robbing the people that needed the most help. Not only did this job come with a lot of disappointment, it also came with a lot of enemies. He was constantly getting harassed and hated. Knowing this, he was unsurprised to walk up to his apartment door to find spray paint spelling out the words, “We are coming for you,” in red. He sighed, walked in, sat his wallet and keys on the counter, and decided to drink the rest of the night away with some of his favorite whiskey. He continued to drink through the loud noises outside; and, he almost thought he was imagining the people running through his door. By the time he realized what was happening, he had a sack over his head. He was slipping in and out of consciousness. When Dean woke up, he was startled and he tried to wiggle his way out of the chair he was tied to. When the same men from the night before walked in front of him, he was struck by fear, and felt his throat closing like he was being drowned. They were from the shelter he had closed yesterday, wanting answers he was sure. He remembered seeing them in the left corner when he walked in, eyeing him suspiciously. One had even tried to talk to him, but Dean finds the work easier if you don’t make connections. They kept asking for answers now, but the problem was
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Inscape 2020
