Free A Vagrant Story by Paul Croasdell

that’s what I am. If your normal then-“
    “Look out! He’s throwing it in my face. I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”
    Alex huffed for the futility and walked off.
    It didn’t stop Rum. “Please don’t turn your back on me. I can’t handle the shame.” Rum sniffed. “That’s why you’re such a stupid weirdo, always saying pointless, stupid things. Freak.”
    Sierra checked nearby gurneys for a familiar face. “You can either stand there complaining or lend a hand. Pick out someone and see if it’s our guy – at least pretend you’re doing something.”
    “Then you’ll make me pick another, then another. Why should I even bother? Alex is the only one who got a good look at his face.”
    “It might jog your memory,” Sierra said, scuttling off to check more gurneys further down the corridor. Alex went with her.
    Standing alone, Rum made a half effort to check a gurney by his side. It contained a dead man, left to rot in the halls. “Not him. There, I checked. Can I go?”
    Sierra called down. “Look harder, fool!”
    “Thought so.” Rum sighed as if building a thought. “Hey Blondie, what if the guy died after the fire?”
    “Don’t say that! Stop it, you never take anything seriously.” She immediately turned to check the next gurney down.
    Rum didn’t answer. With steady eyes he stared down at the corpse by his side. In a way, he’d grown used to seeing them. He’d even tripped over a few in winter time.
    “I thought I was serious,” Rum said. “Death is always serious, I thought.”
    Seeing the dead man’s arm slip and dangle out the gurney, Rum placed it back under the blanket. He gave a courtesy nod then continued prattling on with this futile little plan.
    It might have been a wasted effort, one that ate up a lot of time and didn’t appear to be going anywhere fast. But it was the only plan they had, even if Alex acted as the only essential participant. They would call him over for the sake of verifying every kind of patient, from the one’s with the tempers to the ones with their bed sheets folded the wrong way up.
    A trend began to form. It would start with one or the other summoning Alex over to check a suspect, to which he’d shake his head negatively. After a number of repeats of this there would follow some sort of morale boosting comment, such as: “Get your ass over here y’lanky streak of piss!” At which point Alex would tighten his fists and aim them toward an empty headed old drunk.
    Needless to say, there came a certain monotony to the whole experience. Something worsened by the number of different excuses required to carry out this plan. There were only so many reasons to stare at debilitated patients. Their enthusiasm began to die by the time they started telling staff they were ‘looking for a missing purse’ in the burn ward.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    Henry fitted his way into a new pair of trousers, doing so under the covers to avoid drawing attention. The doctor gave him this new clothing. It seemed the reasonable thing to do since paramedics misplaced his original, leaving him in nothing but a patient gown. They were similar to his old clothes, if not two sizes big and bearing a crude odour he couldn’t quite place. A stench hung over it, something like sweet perfume but faded as though someone tried scrubbing it away.
    Henry shivered in thought of what might have been behind it. The doctor did say he pulled them from a clothes bin. Whoever wore these before obviously didn’t need them anymore. Judging from the tattered state of the clothing it looked as though the previous owner had lost the wrong fight. Not that Henry’s old clothes were in any better condition. The prior owner could have been homeless like Henry. He may even have stayed in this room, or this bed.
    Fully dressed in his new attire Henry lay back in patience for the doctor’s next visit. Until then, he flipped up his