💾 Archived View for hankprince.smol.pub › 3_freeweeber captured on 2022-06-04 at 00:36:11. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
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Ronald had hitch-hiked, box-carred and hoofed his way across America, from his old apartment in New York through Ohio and Montana, feet getting more blistered and bunioned with each step. Unlike most vagabonds, he refused to steal. At one point, he'd wrapped newspapers on his feet with straw. He would've preferred to go barefoot, but the burrs in the sandy parts of Idaho were too much for his overworked feet. No amount of sorrow-drowning could make him forget the pain of that long, shameful journey he took, slowly moving to the Pacific Northwest, where Papa Rich had settled down with Mama Thelmie.
After that journey, he even tracked down Papa and Mama. He stood at their door, covered in sweat, long hair, and shame. His feet burned hotter and hotter as he stood outside their two-story house in a quiet neighborhood, silently debating whether or not to ring that doorbell, knock on that door and see his folks again. But, he didn't want them to see him like this. The cops agreed, and when he heard sirens and saw flashing lights after standing at that doorstep for what seemed like eons, he fled, feet bleeding with each step.
He ran, and he hid. The world of civilized men was not one that Ronald could go to again, not as he was.
His family probably thought of him as dead, anyhow. And that's how he wished it would end. With a quiet release rather than a loud bang. If he were to die in his sleep and be forgotten, then the Freeweeber name would not be dishonored by his scoundrely lifestyle.
But, no amount of drunken stupors, high euphorias or painful flarings in his feet would erase his identity. Ronald thought about his family all the time. How was his sister Nancy doing? Were her kids Hillary, George and Barry doing OK? Did Mamie and Claudia ever settle their strange feud that ruined the Freeweeber Thanksgiving gathering? Was Papa Rich still around?
Tears ran down Ronald's face and mucus from his nose. His body shivered despite wearing three layers. Oh no, Ronald thought to himself. He dare not look at his skin for fear of how it must have looked. But he had to know. With shivering hand, he tugged off his left glove, just enough to see his wrist. The air in his tent was bone-chilling. But he still couldn't see his skin. He crawled to the opening of his tent. He stuck his hand into the sunlight, and saw the unhealthy pale of a man in heroin withdrawal.
Hungry, hurt, tired and body craving unhealthy substances, Ronald Freeweeber refused to die.