An episodic moment of madness on a quiet neighborhood street
Written by: dreampersona
It was a lovely summer day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The scent of lilac perfumed the fresh morning air. The parish neighborhood of St. Francis of Assisi hummed with activity. Home owners tended their lawns with gentle loving care. Children played and ran amuck in the school yard letting out squeals of joy and happiness.
On the steps of St. Francis of Assisi Church, there sat a homeless man named Tim, dressed in rags, sobbing his heart out. He was a sight for sore eyes.
Father Kelly, an elderly man with a slight stoop, dressed in Franciscan friar robes, approached the wretched soul with humility and kindness. He had heard the poor man’s wailings from the rectory.
“Can I help you, son?”
“Buzz off! I aint done wrong.” Tim cried.
“Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee and something to eat? The priest gently spoke his words filled with Christ’s undying love.
“Fuck your coffee. Fuck your food. Just leave me alone. You needed shit about me. I’ll bugger off soon.”
“As you wish.” The priest walked away in silence.
Tim thought, “What the hell am I doing here!” He stood up, and paced up and down the perimeter of the church. He hit his head with his clenched fists.
“I bloody remember.” He shouted. “I want forgiveness.”
He had damned the church and its teachings, which insisted on exemplary Christian behavior. He sighed deeply. He blew his nose with his fingers, the snot flying into the air and landing on the road.
“It’s not bloody fair! I aint good! The psychosis got in the way! God, do you hear me?” He shouted.
Across the street from the church, a small crowd of people had gathered and watched Tim’s antics.
He was tired of his friggin life, of the hospitalizations, of the psychotropic drugs, and the talk therapy. He wished never to have been born. He gazed at the church doors. He wanted to enter, to prostrate himself before the cross, before Jesus, the messiah of the world, and confess his ghastly sins but he couldn’t do it. Inertia had set in. Gripped by anger, he pummeled his fists against the brick and mortar of the church’s facade. His hands bled red. He was oblivious to his pain.
Crying, he pressed his bleeding hands together and fell to his knees.
He shouted. “God help me!” He fell into a daze and collapsed to the ground.
In the distance, the siren of a police car could be heard. Two officers approached and stood over Tim. They prodded him with their feet.
One of the officers shouted, ”Get up you homeless piece of scum!”
When Tim opened his eyes and saw the two police officers standing over him, he cried, “Don’t taser me bro. I’ll get up.”
He tried to pick himself up, stumbled, and hit the ground.
An ambulance soon arrived and carted him to the psychiatric ward of the local hospital.
