The candles went out with the light.

The candles went out with the light.
This was inspired by many things, Caroline reminded me i have something to write about, this is a prequal to Carolines 'Homeless'. I hope i have not overstepped my mark or bounds by doingso, i did ask for permission though.
The candles went out with the light.

She woke up slowly this morning, surprised by the comfort of her skin she allowed for the slow rise. Not as usually needed straight and jumping up, up and down, as most cold mornings demanded of her stiff limbs, this morning had a light to it, had a touch of the warmth upon the earth her skin her hair and bones.
The cold mornings she had grown stunted from and you never get used to deformity, the cold and wind and rian had started to bend her frame and she found that when she walked she was facing down looking ground-wards even though her heavy pack demanded a strong and resilient spine, the creeping and seeping cold that had been slowly deforming her was not out to get her this morning.
This morning the sun had come out to befriend and wake her with the kiss of the ultra violet.
'Every body needs the sun' she hoped to herself.
As she folded away her blanket and mats stowing them in her affectionately dubbed 'hump' she hummed a song, she hummed the theme from Happy Days.
This morning she was up and up enough to get some outstanding jobs done.
She made her lists, this girl loved making lists, they had replaced her domestic regime her once was husband had demanded from of her.
Sometimes she would make lists of ways to waste her day, to make lists of how to avoid all effort, but in her condition and situation she had to plan carefully her wasteful days, places where one can be alone and un-pestered takes planning, the bus stops she would sit in to while away the hours reading and ignoring people instead of begging, she had to plan to not beg for a single day.
Begging takes patience and practice at reading people and being patient was for her a full-blown career.

Not today, today she would get all of her jobs done; being homeless is a full time job and a hard one at that.
She had tried to crash and sleep near a public convenience but not so near so as to be pissed on during the night, near enough so she would not have to trek to get free water and a place to brush her teeth, "non potable" did not always matter, but she knew the map of W.C s so would usually position herself near one with pleasant enough water even if it was always cold.
She had once nearly given up her personal hygiene when one of her patrons had started to shout at her for not really being homeless looking far to presentable, 'when was it a crime to be respectable and be homeless at the same time?' she had wondered, this man had shouted loud and long down upon her, and she had dutifully pretended he did not exist, imagining he was a blank hole in her vision, her face as blank as his mind, at times like these she would go into a form of trance and all the world would disappear. Even she might have disappeared into a trance forever had she not the will to come back out of it, had the need for her self respect to prevail. Had she not the drive for survival?
The homeless will always lose in a fight, they just cant win at anything, so don't fight, except against each other. She was resolute not to lose herself.
After her ablutions she went down the road to a cafe who she knew would give her a hot cup of tea to-go and any past sell by date sandwiches at half price. But they did not let her sit down and eat under their roof. She was not a fan of coffee.
Grateful for her foraging skills she moved on.
She needed toilet roll and tampons, something's she was willing to pay full price for having once had to make shift and fashion her own, 'once was enough and leaves moss and newspapers are rough'.
The shop was warmer than the outside but she found she missed the seldom sunshine to that of the air conditioned isles, she as always was clocked by the owner and took no offence until they might on occasion demanded to search her for their lost humanity, which she would always accept and not fight these accusations, going back into her self where the world could not have a single part of her. Today they had not given her grief except with their scrutiny and security cameras, and as the clerk asked if she wanted anything else she fought the urge to buy cigarettes, a habit she despised, but even those that one despises can be better company than being without anything. 'Smoking is bad company indeed'.
The sun was at it height so she quickened her step knowing there were only a fistful of hours left. You get to know time intimately when living under the sun and moon with nothing to hide you from them or the elements.
Her husband had bought her a watch once, and was one of the first things she pawned when she had taken her own life, as her own.
The homeless always knows when the night will come down. They prepare for the night by living the day.
She did not like to beg at night, getting enough sleep was hard enough put. However when needs must needs must be done.
She wondered about going to the soup kitchen, something she would only brave and despise herself for doing afterwards on the really slow weeks, she did not drink, she saved her money for food and the occasional cinema ticket, which food and culture to a drunk was not as important as their tins and plastic bottle of gut rot, 'not as important as killing yourself slowly' she scoffed.
She had once seen a drunk down a bottle of meths and smile with a purple grin after he had thrown it all back up again. 'Once was to much' she sneered.
She had a little money in her pocket for breakfast the next morning so decided not to go to the soup kitchen even if they did have shower facilities which was one thing she missed, a long hot shower, but she did not trust her nakedness in the presence of anyone, no matter how many untrustworthy locks were in place, she may now not even trust her own eyes if they were to see her naked body once again, ever again. Besides she had had her 'whores bath' this morning a term she had always smiled at.
She would rather die fighting before giving her body to that of any other man, 'never ever again' she vowed and was silent for a time.
She lived by her convictions. The best convictions are the un-crowded ones. She has very few but the few she has are enough of a survival.
She no longer prayed or asked for anything but spare change.
She had stopped to take a breath, wander lust being part of who she knew she was, tiredness being the other.
She had passed the library a few streets back and this always made her sad for they had banned her form coming in, 'so much for it being a place for the open mind' she had always regretted thinking when the though had been done.
Her present company of a book was a penny dreadful horror novel which she had bough from a second hand book store which would allow her to trade in her old books for new old ones, was her little seceret of a present miracle in her life. The woman who owned the store although not forthcoming with a smile or greeting at all would never look to hard for the torn or smudged pages that being on the streets would beat into ones books.
She wadded through her well-organised pack as she looked over her supplies, 'only three candles left' she noted and knew where she was going next.
But she did take the time to feed the 'vermin birds' that begged her for her change and left over sandwich crust.
'Don't begrudge the vermin of the world, they will soon be its masters' she nodded.
Off to church then we go,
She had been coming to this church of the 'sacred myth' for the past year to have her only demand settled, her only score with God was to liberate his candles, to have her only but for the sun free light she would never be ungrateful for, knowing she tended to be ungrateful for almost everything else in her life no matter how hard it was to earn.
The small Catholic church was crushed between a MacDonald's and a public house which had on its door "free house", 'all three of the worlds religions under one street address, food booze and fools' she would not smile at this even though she knew she was being a wise guy.
She entered this small squashed church, which was colder on the inside than the outside. 'Coincidence I think not' she continued her set.
She did not want to waste her time in here, having already dismissed the only stain glass window it sheltered under as a 'waste of sand and fire'.
She went straight to the sacristy to get what she came for.
As she placed her pack on the ground and opened it for her bounty, she had just picked up a hand full of the candles held there, when a voice came from behind her, and being in an enclosed space she jumped and froze slightly.
The voice said 'and what do you think you are doing' not as question for she could tell that a judgement had already been cast by the timber of the voice and accusation.
She let go of the candles in her hand stiffly, and turned to meet her maker.
Only it was not her maker it was a fool disguised as a saint, she was about to give her apology when the man came towards her and grabbed her by the arm and started to pull her away.
'You're not taking me to your hell' she thought as she wrestled free from his hold.
'I need them' was all she whispered as she was escorted from the building.
As she turned to finally face fully this bully of self-aggrandisement she was struck how young he was.
'You cant spare a little light, I wonder what your God would say about this, if he were not as fictitious as you are' she yelled and screwed her face into an ugly shape. The man looked on in disgust but in not surprise, she was not finished with him, 'look horrified all you want, its all you can do, only ever reading one book all your life which was the very first horror there ever was' he turned and slammed the door of his self-righteousness behind him.
Keeping her well outside the gates of any heaven, dreamed of for the all except those who disappoint you.
'A dream indeed' she chided. Turned and went back on her own way.

The sun was a stolen friend from her now, now all light reminded her 'liberation is only skin deep' 'freedom is only an appearance away from being your prison'.
Her bones would never be warmed by the sun, not until she could let it in, and as yet another one of her internal doors had its dead bolt locked infront, against and behind her the blew up a howl and she found comfort in the fact that at least her shivers were as incarcerated as her sunshine.
Not just to deny the wind it prize but to keep in whatever little illumination she had left.
And as she saw the first snow flakes fall she could not help but spit up at the sky and an absent father, only for her spittle to come back down and hit her in her face.
'And the whole wide world will be washed clean' she whispered as she hiked up her load and went on her own way.
'At least we have the grave.' Was food for thought, it gave her an idea????????????

Listened to Nina Simone, especially '4 women' (this is 'her' song) when writing this this afternoon.Thanks again Caroline.

But where did they go? Probably to a night-club.