Don't let them get to you, he thought, not bothering to look up. He could feel the stares, the condescending and curious eyes that rested on his skin seemed to weigh a ton. Acknologing them would only lead to more staring, and right now he had better, more pressing things to deal with. He bent himself even farther over the computer, causing a sharp twinge of pain in his back as he did so. His master's thesis was due tommorrow morning, and he would be damned if there was going to be anything wrong with it. This was the sixth time he'd reviewed it, but you could never be careful about such things, could you?

He looked through the twenty plus page paper for a final time, before sending it to his proffessor. Nothing more I can do about it now, he thought, but was greatly proud of the piece of work he had created. Words came naturally to him, and the completion of a meaningful and thought provoking piece of literature meant more to him than it did to others. There was a freedom behind it, a liberation that maybe only he could understand. He stood from the bench, straightening himself as much as his curved spine would allow. The stares seemed to intensify, but he tried hard to take no notice of them. After all, people stared at him all the time. It was something he couldn't escape, except for in the confines of his writing. Writing didn't carry a physical deformity, unlike his body.

As he packed his things, he checked his watch, and sighed as he saw that it was only two thirty. He didn't have any more classes today, and no assignments, pressing or otherwise, that he had to do. Work didn't start until seven, which meant he had almost five hours to kill. Damn his efficiency. Taking up his worn leather satchel, he walked toward the direction of home, almost a mile and a half from the park where he did most of his work. The stares were uncomfortable, but he did his best work out in the open, not hiding in his shithole of an apartment. It seems that is the only place I have to go, he thought, limping his way up Newport Avenue. His curved back also tended to impair his gait, making the trip home (or anywhere for that matter), painful and terribly slow. He sighed again, hoping for a short nap once he got home. S***, it was better than staring at his cracked and discolored ceiling.

Slowly, he plodded his way up the street, passing small cafes, two hotels, and bars, stocked with college students, just finished with finals, and tourists, though why they were not out by the beach on a day like this he could not fathom. He thought about getting a drink of scotch for the pain, but decided against it. It was much too early to be thinking about such things, anyway. Besides, the pain was something he had become accustomed to; though he felt it, he rarely ever allowed himself to take notice of it now.

At the end of the business section, just slightly taller than the buildings around it, stood the only movie theater in town, apart from the one on campus two miles away; the Rialto. Old fashioned name, he thought for the millionth time, yet he supposed it suit the place. The building was by far the oldest in town, and looked like it would have fit right in in an old western ghost town. The show board was probably still original, or had at least been around as long as he had been born. The sign said that they would be rerunning "golden classics of film", for about the third time this month. He usually never paid it any attention, but there was so much time to kill, and the thought of spending it in his private hell made him shutter. He pulled out his wallet, making sure that the rest of his paycheck (which amounted to about sixty bucks) was still tucked safely away.

He paid the man at the front door, who looked half asleep, and took his seat for the next show, whatever that was. It was dark in the theatre, which suited him just fine. At least he wouldn't have to worry about people staring at him through the movie. The owner must have sprung for a modern AC system, because the air was cool and crisp, much unlike the dry heat of the outside world. There were very few people, just an older couple sitting in the row ahead of him, laughing and talking like giddy teenagers on there first date. He silently wished he had someone who cared and loved him, but then pushed it rapidly out of his mind. His life wasn't like that, probably never would be.

The credits began to role, and to his utter disappointment the movie turned out to be "Gone with the Wind". Great, he thought, looks like the universe is being especially cruel to me today. It wasn't that the movie wasn't a good one; it just always seemed to further emulate his loneliness. For once, hiding away seemed like a much more appealing idea. He was just about to leave when he heard the door to the theatre open, letting in a stream of light that momentarily blocked the screen. A late arrival, he was sure, and waited for the person to take their seat. He was akward enough without having to dogde another person in the narrow ailse.

Unfortunately, the person decided, out of all the other empty seats, to take the one next to him, blocking his escape, or at least making it more humiliating. Why are you so worried about it, he asked himself. You've been through worse things, remember? This is nothing. Just get up and ask if you can sqeeze through, it will be over in seconds, dammit!

He turned intent on doing just that, when the sight of her stopped him. The woman sat next to him, her features concealed, but not completely hidden by the darkness. The projecter cast enough light within the room to illuminate the delicate surface of he cheeks and chin, the straightness of her nose. Her hair shone auburn in what little light there was. There was enough light to see that she was buetiful, as he turned away quickly, focusing on the screen.

"Damn me." he muttered, trying not to flee the theatre by any means nessasary. Women were a touche subject; they always had been, probably always would be. He often felt unworthy to be in their direct presence, completely terrified of their judgment. It was easier to take when he could not see there face or were farther away. He couldn't stand the fear or disgust in the eyes that often accompanied the sight of women close by, and he was not going to risk seeing those emotions now.

"Excuse me, did you say something?"

He froze, even forgot how to breathe. For a few painful moments, time itself froze, trapping him in his own thoughts. As suddenly as it had occurred, time restarted, and he slowly turned his head to face the woman next to him. She stared at him with inoccent curiosity, waiting for her question to be answered. Dammit.

"Aw, it was nothing. Just talking to myself."

He winced as soon as the phrase left his lips. What do you want to do, scare her? Make her think your crazy? He looked down again, avoiding her eyes.

"You don't need to feel bad about it. I do the same thing all the time."

He looked up again, a look of disbelief crossing his face in the darkness.

"Sometimes, I have better conversations with myself than with other people", she continued, smiling, "Don't worry; I don't think there's something wrong with you."

He couldn't say anything. He wanted to, but he couldn't seem to form the words. His throat was dry, and the muscles of his mouth didn't seem to want to function. The woman turned away from him, focusing her attention on the movie now. If there had ever been a chance to say anything, it had passed.

He turned his face away, trying his best to focus on the movie playing, but could not. Nor could he turn to her again. Time passed slowly, agony with every minute, every second. For a while, it seemed that time had stopped again, drawing out his torture.

The final credits rolled, after an eternity of waiting, causing the lights to go on without warning. He whipped his head around, to apologize to the woman next to him, but there was no one. She had already left; or maybe she hadn't even been there at all, he thought, pulling himself to his feet. He shuffled out into the brilliant light of day, checking his watch. It was six-fifty! S***! He should have checked the time earlier, dammit! He couldn't walk fast enough to make it there in time...

The squeling of times and smell of burnt rubber pulled him out of his trance, but not before the one ton truck slammed into him. Then he was flying, a breeze blowing through his hair. He could feel broken bones, but it didn't matter then. All that mattered was the sensation of flying. Then, there was only black. For what seemed like a very long time.