The World Through Various Eyes

The heavy grocery bag strained Alex’s arms as he trudged home, the harsh November wind biting at his exposed skin. Dry leaves crunched satisfyingly beneath his worn sneakers, a small comfort in the otherwise relentless chill. Above, the sky was a bruised canvas of grey clouds, and the few remaining leaves fluttered down, joining the chaotic dance on the pavement.

He pulled his thin jacket tighter, resentment simmering. Days like this, crisp and vibrant, made the confines of his life feel even more oppressive. Inside, the computer screen awaited, demanding hours of his attention, the sole source of income for himself and his father. He was the provider, the anchor, a role he’d assumed too young, especially after his mother left.

“Probably,” he murmured to himself, picturing his father sprawled on the futon, lost to another stupor. The thought offered no solace. The man he knew was gone, replaced by a ghost of addiction. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want the constant reminder of what they’d become. His eyes stung, not just from the wind, but from a deeper weariness. He removed his despised, thick-rimmed glasses, rubbing his eyes, and allowed himself to drift towards the worn couch, seeking a fleeting moment of oblivion.