Crossing the city for a night shift was the last thing Luna wanted to do. The temperature was dropping, and a biting wind whipped through the dark streets, driving a fierce snowstorm, turning pavements white. Luna huddled in the broken shelter, but the bus- always late- was nowhere in sight.
She hugged her arms tightly against her body, trying to trap what little warmth was left. Her coat, a black, knee-length charity shop bargain with oversized lapels, was far too thin to fend off the elements, but it would have to do. She couldn’t afford an alternative on care assistants’ wages.
Further down the street, a man shuffled in her direction, wearing no coat at all. He staggered along the pavement in his ripped jeans and stained jumper, pausing now and then to mutter at lampposts or address invisible things on the ground. Luna glanced down the road, then at her watch, willing the 101 bus to arrive into view and reach her before the homeless man did…
No. Immediately she chastised herself for thinking like that. It simply wasn’t like her to be so judgemental. Only last spring, during her final year at college, her class had visited a homeless hostel. She had spoken politely and kindly to everyone there, listened to their stories, and had realised these people weren’t to be feared. Why would this man be any different? Maybe she could even help him somehow…
“Y’alright, luv!” The man shuffled into the shelter, followed by the stench of stale alcohol.
“Hello,” Luna replied, offering a polite smile.
He flashed a grin, revealing teeth like unloved gravestones. “I like yer pink hair. I used to be in the army y’know.”
“Did you? Where did you serve?”
“Oh, everywhere. I was in…uh, what do y’ call it? That place. That bloke. Baghdad.”
“Iraq?”
“Yeah, That’s it. Sandam Hussein–him.”
He twitched nervously, flicking his tongue around like a lizard. It was unsettling.
“We studied the Gulf War and Saddam Hussein in History,” said Luna.
“I met him!”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I did. He was a right horrible cunt. Oh, fuck– sorry, didn’t mean to say that.”
He rasped a wheezy laugh as if something heavy was compressing his lungs. The bus would be here soon. She just had to humour him until then.
“That’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice still calm. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No. I don’t feel the cold. Took a bang to the head, y’know? Fell off somethin’. A fuckin’ jeep, I think. I get bad headaches now, like me skull’s on fire. Y’ know what I mean?”
“An acquired brain injury?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’m not, what’s it called? Componus memphis no more. That how you say it?”
“Yes. Compos Mentis.”
The people who Luna had met at the hostel had been surprisingly articulate and engaging. One man had once owned his own business, only to lose everything to bankruptcy and divorce. Another had fought a long battle with heroin addiction, but his methadone programme had given him a second chance at life. As Luna watched her companion in the bus shelter running his tongue back and forth across his top lip, it dawned on her that maybe those people at the hostel had been handpicked…
“Please don’t be offended, but have you got somewhere to stay tonight?”
“Me? Yeah, don’t worry about me, luv. I’ll come home with you though if yer asking me!”
He rasped out another laugh. Luna forced an uncomfortable smile.
“Yer a nice girl you are, aren’t yer?” His pale blue eyes roamed over her, lingering in a way that made her skin crawl.
“Thank you,” she muttered, fixing her eyes on the road.
“A nice pretty girl with sexy pink hair.”
At the homeless hostel, staff had been nearby – blue polo shirts, name badges, quietly stationed around the room while the students talked to the service users. If anything had gone wrong, they’d have stepped in without hesitation…
“I bet a nice girl like you’s never seen a big cock before.”
Luna’s pulse pounded wildly. Her body tensed as she judged the distance between them– about a metre. If he took a step closer, she would run.
“Mine’s like a fuckin’ snake.” He cackled and slipped his hand under the waistband of his trousers. His weathered face cracked into a twisted grin. She edged out of the shelter, into the snow but towards the kerb, increasing the distance between them.
At that moment, appearing from around the corner, the 101 battled its way along the main road, snow fluttering in the headlight beams. Fifty yards away, the traffic lights just needed to stay green.
“What’s your name?” He rummaged around in his underwear, idly tugging at himself as he spoke.
“None of your business,” she replied.
The way the pavement had turned white so quickly reminded her of something – a childhood visit to the zoo with her father. It was Easter, but a freak snowstorm had hit. She’d watched by the windows of the lions’ enclosure as a huge male brushed up against the glass, snowflakes glittering in his mane. She’d looked directly into his golden eyes that day and felt the threat of quiet, dangerous power.
“Oi! I said, what’s yer name? I’m asking yer a question.”
She ignored him. How would she have felt standing by that lions’ enclosure if there’d been no glass between them?
“This is the problem with this country. I served in the army, in the fuckin’ Falklands, and nobody gives a shit about me, do they?”
At least he had stopped messing with himself, and was now waving his hand in the air, jabbing a finger to emphasise whatever point he thought he was making.
The traffic lights were still green as the bus approached them. Please, please, please, do not change.
“Yer stand ‘ere, with yer pink hair like…I dunno…a fuckin’ troll doll. Y’think yer better than me, don’t yer?”
The bus made it through the lights. Thank God! Luna thrust out her hand to flag it down. As it pulled up to the kerb, the door opened with a familiar and satisfying hiss. Luna hurried up the steps while the man, still swearing to himself, slunk into the shadows at the back of the shelter.
Luna acknowledged the driver, tapped her bank card onto the terminal and collapsed into a seat away from the door. She breathed long and slow, deep and measured, her shoulders no longer taut. As the empty bus pulled away, she stared through the window, watching snowflakes swirl in the darkness like a million tiny feathers. Her thoughts returned to the zoo and how beautiful the enclosure had looked under a blanket of snow. She remembered asking her father, what do the lions do in winter?
Image: Empty UK Bus stop from Pixabay.com
literally stories 
Neil
Another top example of there being no suitable alternative to the ugly reality. The man needs help but he is also repellent. Mean to say, worse to see.
I have heard it said that a person is free to be homeless if they want. Nonsense. It’s the same as claiming we can say whatever we like. Not doing anything productive on a large scale will be the end of us.
Leila
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Hi Neil,
My take on this was that the MC had a good experience at the Hostel so I think this is more saying that some Homeless need to be avoided. Let’s be honest that is true of all of society.
I don’t think he was ex-army, just bull-shitting for sympathy. I may be wrong but most are very proud of their service and are specific to their regiment and that is normally the first thing that they mention. (I’m an Ex-Para / Scots Guard / Marine (Especially!!) etc
He could have served in both The Falklands and Iraq but surely he would have said ‘…And The Falklands’ Not just singular again.
(Lowest of the low those pricks who state they served when they haven’t!!!)
I believe that Hostel residents would be hand-picked, that would be done when certain visitors were in. Again, when you think on Focus Groups / head office Visitors / royal or politician visits and reporters, a lot of establishments would hand-pick who they wanted to be spoken to!
Talking about addicts of a certain type: (Those who live in society and can feed their habit and are our professionals that we are supposed to look up to are exempt!!) Regarding the crudeness, that’s feasible but you normally find that a male addict would be more likely to ask for money or try and mug you than think about sex. A female addict may offer sex for whatever her addiction was and that would probably be after asking for money. The addiction normally outweighs everything, children and dignity being the two biggies!!
I don’t think you were comparing the big beastie to the Homeless guy. I think you were comparing the safety she felt in the Hostel with the staff and the hand-picked compared to meeting someone face to face.
And one last thing, whatever I have commented on, there are always exceptions, stereotypes, likeability, nastiness, hidden agendas, negative honesty, positive lies…Just like all of society!!!!!!
I thought this was a very real and thought provoking piece of work.
Excellent!!
Hugh
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A differently slanted look at the problem that shouldn’t be with us, but is. I would like to think that I would act with kindness and empathy but my word this is a scary situation. A threatening situation for any lone woman who is approached by a man is awful enough but a person who is so very obviously unreliable is pretty terrifying. I thought this was handled very well and did breathe a sigh of relief when the bus came. I try to avoid lone journeys at night but I’ll be honest there is a sort of thrill when you arrive safely as if you have in fact faced danger and that’s awful. We should walk alone in safety and security but it will never be so. Thanks for this thought provoking piece. dd
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A brutal but honest piece flecked with passages of beauty. The image of the lion in winter (wasn’t there a film of that name?!) will definitely linger.
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Very believable. Excellent job of building the tension and creating mixed emotions toward the antagonist. The metaphor of the lions adds depth. I think Peter O’Toole would approve.
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Neil
Luna’s current situation is beautifully contrasted with her memories of the lion behind the glass with the snow in his mane. It evokes rather than explains, which is all we need and can hope for. — Gerry
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The tension in this was great! It went from uncomfortable to dangerous in a few seconds. Great job on the homeless guy, he was disgusting.
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I love how you’ve written this with such pace, depth and solid character. A sad tale of Luna’s misguided charity and goodwill, but also the homeless veteran is painted not simply as a monster, but a victim in his own way also. In that sense this is very complex and layered, but maintains a simplicity of tone that make this a great read.
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