NEW FICTION:

He knew he was an alien in all but name. He sat on the steps in beaten up boots, in fingerless gloves, in an ancient hooded top, with a faint smile to his face, and eyes that never quite shut, never quite opened. He was spaced-out, like always - part disenchanted, part disengaged - part of the human species, yet being without. He stared at his bloodied bent fingers sticking out of his tattered gloves, saw the bitten down nails, the grazed knuckles, saw the silent shake, felt the drum of fingertips on his knees - the beat of the song loop that had always been with him. He was in transition, always in transition. He was stuck between walls, stuck between visions, between lives. He hummed along to the loop, shifted his head to avoid tears, knowing that he was ever an alien in all but name.