Threadbare, part 1

[I had told my friend I'd write a 500 word essay. I got though 540 words and Chuck is only just getting to the scarf. Looks like I have a second part to write. LOL]

"Hey you there. Move along."

The man's voice sounded muffled and distant, but the thumping, not so much. The cracking sound of wood on wood reverberated through Chuck's head as he rolled toward the voice. The heavy set security guard in his overstuffed dark blue parka was rhythmically rapping his night stick against the icy bench. He looked down on the still sleepy eyed Chuck.

"You can't sleep here fella. You have to find another place to go."

Only icy blue eyes and the bridge of a nose could be seen beneath the parka hood and ski mask. Chuck didn't think this was a guy who ever skied.

With a grunt and an ache, Chuck slowly pulled himself up. There was no need to hurry. The park bench creaked as he moved and the security guard continued his impatient tapping of his night stick. In the quiet of the night the noise was jarring. With cramped fingers, Chuck unwound the thin grey blanket he had wrapped around his legs and pulled the cloth around his shoulders. Even with the extra layer, the cold wind still worked its way under his worn clothes to his skin.

Easing himself to his feet, Chuck tugged his backpack out from under the bench, shouldered it and started off. He wasn't surprised at being roused from his sleep. The bench he had chosen was in the shadow of an ornate and modern office building. These places always had cameras. Even in the dead of a winter's night, people watched.

In Memory of Deirdre Dupre, Esq. was engraved in a plaque on the back of the bench. Chuck had thought the name was too pretty for a lawyer, it was better suited to a southern belle with a sweet sad smile. As he had drifted to sleep on the bench, he imagined his head in the lap of a beautiful Deirdre Dupre, Esq. She stroked his hair in the summer sun as she hummed a gentle tune.

He had picked that particular bench because it had been guarded from the wind. It was also off the main street in a small alcove that probably had plants in the summer months. He had hoped to stay private. But, of course there was security. There was always security, especially when there were lawyers around. It was just Chuck's luck there would be a security guard on duty that actually did his job on a freezing cold night such as this.

Perhaps he'd have better luck in the park a few blocks down.

At night, everything the park was in shades of black and white and all the figures looked angular. It was like walking though an old comic strip. A laugh turned to a violent cough as he imagined Dick Tracy appearing out of nowhere chasing down Flattop Jones.

He was careful walking the paths as a thin layer of ice had formed. The sound of his slow crunching walk was muffled by the snowy piles beside the paths. With a “whoosh”, a brisk breeze shook the surrounding trees, loosening snow and ice from their branches. It showered to the ground sparkling prettily in the streetlight; white snow against black trees in silver light.

The shock of red was easy to see among the trees. It was a bleeding gash against a silvery gray shadow. As he walked closer, the surrealistic nature of the scene caused another round of violent coughing laughter.