“The Raggedy Man” by Alexandra Elwell ’23

The Raggedy Man

By Alexandra Elwell ’23

An air of coldness and curtness swarms the man. He seemed to teem with ‘-ness,’ as he was a very ‘noun’ man. He was not ‘adjectival’ at all, no he was ‘nounal.’ Nothing could describe him, per se, as he was everything already. He was an instigator, arousing burning pangs of putrid hatred in those he wronged. He instigated hate and hate instigated him to be as he was. Just as he was an instigator, he is an interloper. He is an interloper with his instigation, too. He adds to the conversation when he is told not to and they cry, “Leave us alone!” But, he does not because he is an interloper and onward he prances with the dexterity of a gazelle, roaming to and from the privacy of others. He is involved in what he should not be but that is what instigates the anger of others toward him and, thus, his anger. “Why can’t I join?” he asks feebly with a twinge of resentment. Just as he is an interloper, he was a prima donna. He was a prima donna because he thought he deserved to be there, to be heard, and to be visibly invested in the lives of others. He deserved this. After all, he was the reason why they all were happy. His family, his lovely family. He fathered them, husbanded them, uncled them, and cousined them. He made their lives what they were by being who he was, therefore no one could get mad at him merely because he existed. He was a necessity. He was an inspiration! He challenged others, though they needed this not. His voice rang with knowledge and beckoned others forth, to come in close and scrunch around his feet for a quick listen as his thoughts abounded with glimmering ingenuity and intelligence that no other could possibly acquire, not by any means, as he was uniquely incredible!

He looks around to see that the gilded room of yore with gold crusted panels, ornate crown molding, and walls lined with the most illustrious work of art possible have vanished. The large manor he coveted dearly, the countryside home abounding with memories that he once spread his life through. It’s all gone with the whispering wind that hollows one’s thoughts, taking them as quickly as it gave them. His ragged clothing is all sizes too big and his shuffling steps replace the swift strides upon the ballroom floor that he filled mere seconds ago. He looks around in a stupor of shock. “Where did it all go?” he asks with a tremble in his voice. The flash of life left him and dropped him where he stands, shuffling under a bridge in clothing all sizes too big whilst lugging his suitcases. As his life dribbles by slower than a broken faucet, he becomes and defines the final noun; to his family, friends, and all who see him by, he is a deadbeat, a live one no more.