The Job

He looked at the skyline wistfully. Hazel coloured clouds were floating listlessly.  For years he had tried to find a place for himself in this city where everyone and everything seemed to be made of bricks and mortar. But his efforts had only left a scar on his spirit.

His hand had, almost of its own will, touched his cheek. It hurt. The troubled hand went limp. He cursed himself for again letting his hand go free; this hand had been the cause of all his miseries.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice the little boy who was giving him furtive glances. He was shocked to see that the boy had, like him,  a small scar on his cheek.

‘He almost looks like me? Why? How he pouts at me; what insolent fellow he is; he thinks he softens my heart. But he can’t,’ he gave the boy a tight and angry look. The boy just broke into pieces and melted in thin air. He knew he had been imagining things for past few months.

‘I wish he would stop haunting me?’

He felt the knife in his pocket and let out a sigh. The job had to be done by seven and it was already past eight. He got up and looked at the skyline wistfully.

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A post for;
SundayWhirligig

Word prompts-hazel, months, scar, pouts, small, spirit, limp, tight, glances, softens, letting.

Flash Fiction forAspiring Writers on a photo prompt.

Sunday Scribblings 2,  word prompt -seven