The muddied boots of passerby’s passed around him constantly. As the owner of the local tavern he had constant interaction with his patrons, yet none of it ever extended beyond a single conversation. He met people who could’ve been great friends, or lovers and they all left him. The faces haunting his lonely nights in bed as he stared at the now nearly gone moon. It was a pretty crescent, barely there at all.
He heard the door creak open revealing the presence of an intruder; he crabbed the cudgel next to his nightstand and tip-toed toward the stairs. He stealthily moved down the stairs, knowing exactly which stairs would make a sound if he put his weight down. He reached the bottom and heard what sounded like someone rummaging through the cupboards on the other side of the bar. He moved three steps toward them. Took another step, careful not to alert the intruder to his presence, his gray hairs standing on end. He then leaped forward the remaining gap around the bar and was bringing his cudgel down. It was a little girl. She cried out and fainted, and his cudgel stopped midair.
The man was taken aback; he was expecting a brawny man. Not this little urchin. He carried her to a spare room and laid her down. Then he laid down in his own bed, wondering the history of the little girl, about his lack of a child, drifting slowly into dreams of a different present, with a wife, and a little girl. When he woke up early to get things ready for his tenants, he walked by her room. And she was gone, he was puzzled, and wondering what caused her to leave a warm bed for the street. Was it me? He wondered to himself. Am I so repulsive? These thoughts rebounded and echoed in the lonely cavern of his mind. All his family gone, none there to comfort him. He fell. His shaky 50 year old knees crashed to the ground, tears streaming down his face.
Night had come in the little hamlet, and a band of boisterous travelers were keeping his bar open, their coin too good to refuse. A lady among them, she was pretty, with silken raven hair and precious curves. She stayed at the bar all night, getting more and more flirtatious with each inebriating drink.
After awhile, he no longer started charging hoping to find some happiness for at least one night, but she could hold her liquor and soon there were only a few patrons left drinking. And even more passed out, their heads laying on a table. She was still drinking, and soon the girl became more and more talkative. She spoke on and on, about her history, he didn’t listen. He dreamt only of a woman’s touch. His mind had to reach far into his past to remember such a thing. He returned to his mind and found her running toward the door, and he chased only to find her retching right outside the door. He held her hair, and carried her to bed. By the time he even reached the stairs, she had drifted into unconsciousness. Though her hand lingered on his face, he was roaring with lust. She’s gone. She’ll never know. Just this once. You need this. The voices in his head called out. He hand rested on her chest, now laying on the bed. He ran from the room, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist them any longer. Disgusted with himself, at this desperation. Lonely. Forever. It doesn’t matter. She would never have like you anyway. Who could like such a disturbed, grotesque being. To call you human is a compliment, the spawn of demons would reject you. The voices Badgered him into the night. Tears streaming down the face of the ever lonely. He cried out to the moon. Yet he knew he was destined to be alone. Not worthy of the touch of a human. The voices were his only friends. Friends.