Mary

Mary was sitting alone on the pavement. people walked pass her. It would be wrong to say that she was as invisible to them as colour is to a dog. In fact there was a clear radius around Mary that no one entered. They all noticed the squalid figure and altered their path just a little to avoid her. avoid the air around her. no, they didn't walk pass her without seeing her there; even dogs can smell.

It must have been the smell. The smell of unwashed linen. The smell of wet clothes that didn't dry properly. The odour of a person who hadn't used soap in a long while. The smell of failure. They were afraid of her. The quiet figure sitting in the dirt by the side of the road, slumped over herself and clutching her rags to herself. More afraid than they were of crazy carl on the other side of town. He would shout and rant at passers by. He was a bitter man. At least his behaviour gave allowance for indignance; In what way is it my fault that you have ended up here? But Mary, oh Mary, was the epitome of futility; caked hair, dirt under her broken nails and flies buzzing around her that she couldn't be bothered to brush away. Mary, who never blamed anyone and hardly spoke to anyone because she had no one. They were afraid the dirt and hopelessness and failure would rub off on them, transfer to them like an infection. They were afraid of the guilt. They were afraid of being afraid and the guilt that would come along with it. Mary's silence inspired more than crazy carl's angry shouts.