Beneath a Bridge

Master Tu was born into an average life, with average parents, who had average hopes, for their less than average son.

Both his mother and father were from Chicago, and their forebears were touched with the enchanted psyche of the Irish mixed with the propriety of the Scot.

From the time he began to talk, his questions were answered with contempt. Both parents had no idea of the complexities of their child’s mind, and the value of a loving and enthusiastic conversation escaped them entirely.

Stuart’s (Tu for short) first suffered depression manifested at puberty, and one that strangled him duly during his teens. The gremlin of impossible sadness would sit at the end of his bed and taunt him nightly; keeping him from falling asleep. With this constant sleep deprivation Stuart found that a certain twilight took over his mind - so much so that he learned to sleep without his body laying down, and ignore the world in a daze of adaptive static complacency.

And so, beneath a bridge, settled amongst the modern trolls and geriatric alcoholics; between the casino rats and withered junkies, Puck found Stuart propped up against a shopping trolley gazing into nothingness.

“It was too soon” he had whispered in the vagrant’s ear. “Too soon for you to be coming back.”

With Elvish strength he picked the sorry youth up from the pee stained ground, and hoisted one arm over his shoulder, dragging him to the gold Mercedes he had waiting.

“This is no life my King,” he said respectfully, hauling his thin frame into the back seat and fastening the belt around him snugly.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series