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Description

What are you looking at? He stared at the small people in the distance as he felt their stares penetrate his guard. The wind blew his hair around as he just gazed out onto the distance. He watched over the world passing him by, always too scared to defend himself when the people jeered. The rusted ladder and smashed windows formed an image of how he felt about himself, not necessarily of dislike towards himself, more unwilling to change to please other people.
He loved the glow of the sky in the evening, the distance from the world he created, the clouds passed at his pace and nothing happened that he disapproved of. This was his, his control, something he’d lost in much of his own life. Everything rushed and raced past him, screamed and shouted at him and trod on him and ignoring him.
He kept the people in the distance away from him and his books close; there too he could distance himself from the noise of the world. One day someone decided to join him, a young lady who wandered to the foot of the stepladder.
“Excuse me Sir?”
He looked away, blinking at the sky, but he couldn’t help but anger as she persisted.
“May I join you?”
He couldn’t risk losing his control, his peace, as she began climbing the ladder with no invitation; he began to forcefully move her back down the steps, smash. She fell, her head cracking open at the bottom of the stairs, painting the floor an intruding red. How was he meant to get any rest with such an awful colour along the bottom of his steps?
He began to mop up the blood with the bottom of his trousers; he dragged her out of his view and began to climb the ladder again, to return to his restful state.
A day or so later more people came, this time they weren’t asking to join him, but for him to join them. There was no way he would do that; he sat ignoring their demands as they began to join him up the ladder. They took him away and left him in a white cell with his peace and control, everything moves at his pace and everything is quiet.

Description

What are you looking at? He stared at the small people in the distance as he felt their stares penetrate his guard. The wind blew his hair around as he just gazed out onto the distance. He watched over the world passing him by, always too scared to defend himself when the people jeered. The rusted ladder and smashed windows formed an image of how he felt about himself, not necessarily of dislike towards himself, more unwilling to change to please other people.
He loved the glow of the sky in the evening, the distance from the world he created, the clouds passed at his pace and nothing happened that he disapproved of. This was his, his control, something he’d lost in much of his own life. Everything rushed and raced past him, screamed and shouted at him and trod on him and ignoring him.
He kept the people in the distance away from him and his books close; there too he could distance himself from the noise of the world. One day someone decided to join him, a young lady who wandered to the foot of the stepladder.
“Excuse me Sir?”
He looked away, blinking at the sky, but he couldn’t help but anger as she persisted.
“May I join you?”
He couldn’t risk losing his control, his peace, as she began climbing the ladder with no invitation; he began to forcefully move her back down the steps, smash. She fell, her head cracking open at the bottom of the stairs, painting the floor an intruding red. How was he meant to get any rest with such an awful colour along the bottom of his steps?
He began to mop up the blood with the bottom of his trousers; he dragged her out of his view and began to climb the ladder again, to return to his restful state.
A day or so later more people came, this time they weren’t asking to join him, but for him to join them. There was no way he would do that; he sat ignoring their demands as they began to join him up the ladder. They took him away and left him in a white cell with his peace and control, everything moves at his pace and everything is quiet.