Whoever first said “don’t kick a man while he is down”? Well, Malcolm couldn’t agree harder…

Malcolm Steadman will buy a gun in 70 days.

Malcolm had to abandon his tree in the park. Now he has taken up residence under an Overpass. This is not because there was anything wrong with the tree. It provided shelter, kept him relatively dry when it rained, and though living outside was an objectively terrible experience, the park was nice.

He left because it wasn’t safe.

As the muted light of the morning began to tear through the pregnant fog, Malcolm awoke and immediately fell into his panic attack. This was less “inconvenient” and more “intolerable and cruel to an extreme degree”. The moment his eyes opened he sighted the concrete titan that hid him from society, and he realized then that the overpass’ purpose was not to speed up travel, but to hide. Hide them all.

His breath stifled, his heart raced, Malcolm felt chills that had nothing to do with the oppressive fog. His mind didn’t even have the decency to let him have breakfast before these panic attacks started anymore, and this was the third time this week he had woken up to one.

He had never really noticed the neighborhoods that an overpass was built over when he was normal. He would get on one and would head straight to his destination, and that was usually all of the thought that he gave it. Now that he was homeless, he had to traverse through the neighborhoods that the overpass leapt over. Now that he was homeless, he noticed every detail of those neighborhoods. At first, this was almost exciting. Here was a part of his city he had never really seen before, and exploring it was a pleasurable curiosity. It was almost sad that he had never really spent much time down here, and that was exactly the point. With the overpass, he wasn’t supposed to spend time down here.

Malcolm missed the tree.

…Just days ago, while Malcolm was trying to sleep under the tree, the same man who works at the same building as he did and who had spat at him and told him “to get a god damn job” saw him relaxing under the tree. The man turned towards Malcolm and squared his shoulders then quickened his pace. He looked angry…

The overpass was built by racists! His mind shouted in the confines of his skull. The neighborhoods he had traversed, the ones that all had overpasses snaked high above them? They were all Black, or Latino, or Asian. Some of these neighborhoods were nice, others were destitute with income inequality, but all of them were not white. Was this the true purpose of the overpass? A quick and speedy route above and over what the affluent white did not want to see? Malcolm had noticed no overpass in the neighborhood with the park he stayed at.

…He looked angry, and he looked threatening. Malcolm had lain out under the tree, already wrapped in his blanket. It was the first time that day that he was warm. He hoped that the man was simply cutting across the park’s field, he hoped that he wouldn’t be bothered by him. But the man marched straight toward him. Their eyes locked…

That neighborhood was predominantly white, and definitely well off. Tall hedges instead of chain link fences. Mercedes-Benz instead of Toyota Trucks. Oh yes, there was an on-ramp at the end of the neighborhood, but it started right were the income inequality began. Malcolm’s new shelter, this giant concrete industrial marvel that he was now sleeping under, well, wasn’t it just the best way to avoid what they didn’t want to see?

…Their eyes locked and Malcolm’s fight or flight sense kicked in. Instinct knew what was about to happen. By the time the man was over him, it was too late. Malcolm was too tightly bundled in his blanket to do much. “Get a god damn job you parasite! And get the hell out of my nice park!” the man shouted down at him, with fists clenched and brow furrowed. “I uh, have a job” Malcolm replied. The man took this as some sort of slight, as an insubordination…

The panic attack had passed, and frankly was better than coffee. Malcolm was not just awake, he was alert with terror. He was still shivering, but this time it was because of the heavy fog. His breath felt wet, and he realized that he was covered in a cold sweat. I am the ultimate thing that they want to pass over, Malcolm thought with morbid resign. It was true. Homeless Mr. Steadman brought the property values down.

…An insubordination that would not be tolerated. “My kids play here!” The man shouted, then brought down a sharp kick to Malcolm’s stomach. Sharp pain shot through his body, the air in his lungs were forced out. Malcolm cried out with something that was not a word, but rather a primitive syllable of anguish. “You are ruining our economy you god damn bum!” the man screeched in white-hot hatred as he brought down another kick into Malcolm’s side. Malcolm couldn’t move, he was too tightly wrapped in his blanket. No air graced his lungs yet, the moment he tried to inhale another foot came down on him, cutting the effort short. “GET OUT OF MY PARK!” cursed the man, as one last foot bruised a kidney. The man now did what he had done the last time Malcolm had seen him, he spat at him. The man stepped away, and went the way he came…

Whoever first said “don’t kick a man while he is down”? Well, he wished that they had said it to that man. Malcolm did not sleep there that night. He was bruised, it hurt to move, but move was something he had to do.

For his safety.

And so, Malcolm Steadman lay in pain until he was sure that the man was out of sight, and with great labor pushed himself up, feeling the damage across his torso. And he walked. He walked until the neighborhood was no longer nice. He walked until he was sure that he was in a place that man would not tread, not because he would not dare to, but because he did not have to. He walked until he found the overpass.

The message was clear to Malcolm: this is where he belonged. He had no breakfast that day, and for a solid hour forgot the bitter taste of hope.

Be notified of the next installment and…

You will get a weekly horoscope written with irreverent and gloriously dark humor in your inbox with updates on Existential Terror and Breakfast! These horoscopes are available for members of the mailing list only.

Don’t forget to vote for Existential Terror and Breakfast on Top Web Fiction! It’s one of the fastest ways to bring in other readers

The post Existential Terror and Breakfast: 39 appeared first on revfitz.com.