The scorching sun was burning through my subcutaneous protection as I was plodding back home from work.

I was called from the back by a nonentity, a sexagenarian, plump, short, with an unfinished buttoned shirt. He implored my help due to his accident, told me about his mother was killed in that misfortune, asking me for some money instead of a phone to call the emergency forces.

No. My intuition was to get away from him. I could not see any wreckage at the vicinity, nor there was any congestion on the main road that was in my vision field. I rejected him, but he was tailing me. I held unto my composure, had no compunction of not lending him a hand, walked away, ignoring his incessant pleading.

He was not on my tail, I heaved a breath of relief.

Doubt set in. Did I do anything wrong by not saving the poor soul? Have I indirectly put a person deeper into his pit of nadir? Have I destroyed his hope? Hav… But, his abruptness certainly would scare anyone off, and the situation was not appealing for me to shed some help for him…

Uneasy was my soul, guilt gripped me as a tensile rope wreathed around me, letting no space for me to breath.

P.S. FEB 2017
An misfortune with a request,
declined when I could help,
doubting whether I had lost touch of being, human.

Published by zeckrombryan

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

2 thoughts on “Inhumane

  1. Yes it’s really difficult if you’re being asked for money or help suddenly whilst on the street – you don’t know if they will use your money well but at the same time you have the power to do something to help them. Really well written, brings up these issues so subtly but forcefully.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: