There are all sorts of individuals in this wide, wonderful world; seventy percent are users and losers. Five percent are those who saw their life as half full, another five would testify that theirs is half empty...fifteen percent are the deep thinkers that would swear on mortal feats, (because they don't believe in heaven or hell) they proclaim this world to be a figment of our mind, nothing more than a graceful calculation. The remainder are those like my outstanding self -- that gave zero shits as to what or why any of the above thought or argue over.

As such, I've always struggled with humility and selflessness. Solving others people's problems seemed insurmountable and often risky. Heck, I'm still sorting out the corn pellets from a different pile of nasty shit -- and by evidence of a previous flail, I've not even been able to do so. 'A stone', she said with a bright smile that seemed misplaced when plastered against her pitiful appearance. I wait for an 'and' to appear, none did of course. It felt like dangling bait -- somehow, (though it wasn't voiced aloud) she was hinting for help. For ME to fix this. Untethered stare casts a sidelong glance at her dragging appendage. My own grievance circles this frame like a cage; a viable barrier.

An intelligent response that could've shut down our blossoming conversation, would have been to force a fake smile of sympathy; tell her how terribly sorry I was and that my time is already occupied. (Which wasn't a lie; this whirlwind IS a REAL problem that needed solving.) I'll later wonder what possessed me to exclaim, "Let's see it then." (Dr. Confidence will see you now!) To bad my voice couldn't muster anything past puddle deep enthusiasm; though it should be noted that this tone is not unkind. Blemished limbs, (faintly blurred by the circling debris my personal bubble is spinning up,) shuffle in reverse with the intention of slipping behind her.

Despite the tangling and malnourishment, she might have been pretty once.

The path of my gaze naturally falls along the unkept curve of her rigid spine and down the long length of one dusty leg. Unwelcome heat floods my amber face when an untrained irise climbs to stare at the junction between her thigh and matted tail. Half a beat after an effective mental kick, I've quickly pulled my brows down to her proclaimed 'limb' leg, hopefully without catching negative notice, "Lift it up," a shaky order, I swallow a hard knot and murmur, "Please."