HIS NAME WAS NOBODY and he was mediocre in every way. Nothing about Nobody stood out. Sometimes Nobody cared and sometimes he didn’t.
He wasn’t ugly or handsome, mean or nice, he just was.
Late into the night, once all the cars were parked and the sidewalks were emptied, Nobody would go out for a walk, always alone in the dark.
In his head Nobody was somebody. Somebody good, somebody important, somebody who was loved and loved somebody.
In society Nobody was nobody. Mediocre in every way.
Nobody knew him and Nobody rarely spoke to anybody.
During dark days Nobody realised he needed help, but there wasn’t anybody to ask and Nobody regretted pushing everybody away.
Nobody was ever careful, ever so cautious, ever so committed to avoid everybody, even though in secret he wished for somebody. Somebody that also avoided everybody.
But to that special somebody, Nobody was everybody, which made Nobody somebody to avoid.
Nobody never met that special somebody.
Maybe nobody knows if there really is somebody out there for everybody.
Born in Edmonton and now living in Southern Ontario, Daniel Hodgson is an up and coming Canadian writer. He spent a few years working in construction, a few years in the Army, and now he is obsessed with writing fiction.