Sitting in the darkest corner of my silent, lonely home was an ever mournful man.
I do not know who he is, or how he had got here. I only knew that he was full of loss and pain. He was pale and sickly, yet not frighteningly so. Just… pitiful.
I had offered him food and company, but he simply glanced at me and nodded his head. He didn’t speak. Whether he was unable or simply unwilling to, I do not know.
I can’t remember when I had first noticed him. He’d been here so long. Most days, he had been practically invisible to me. But on other days, his presence had been glaring and uncomfortable.
I did not fear him, or for my safety. I let him be, and he responded in kind. Some days I had seen him weeping, softly of course. I wished to know why, so I might be a comfort, but he had simply sent me away.
Last night, I went to him and found him weeping again, but this time was… different.
His head was bowed low, and drops of blood fell from his eyes and pooled to the floor, softly.
I asked, “are you alright?”
He spoke, just a word.
And I never saw the man after that night again.
Submitted by: Arc (https://arcanity.tumblr.com/)
Read on for an explanation:
The strange man is a physical manifestation of the author’s grief as he mourns, although it is unclear what the author is mourning about. The disappearance of the strange man indicates that the author has finally overcome his grief.