Skin Illustrations

I stood on the bridge looking at the river below. A strange-looking man came up to me and said “hello, “Do you know where I’ll be able to find a job here?’ That is what the strange man asked me in a voice quite clear. I said, “I don’t really know. I don‘t live very near.” The way the man looked at me gave me a little fear. He heard what I said, and then began to walk away. However, I would meet that man again that same day. The day in Wisconsin was quite hot that September. The man I saw was heavily clothed, I remember. I was relaxing; stretched on the grass when he appeared the second time that day. The scenario was weird. Not looking straight at me, he seemed to sense my presence. He was a big man with some burgeoning corpulence. Perspiring heavily, he would not take off his shirt. As he spoke again, he seemed emotionally hurt. “I haven’t held a good job in nearly forty years.” The way this man spoke to me rekindled all my fears. “Mind if I keep you company a little today? I’ve been on the road a long time with no place to stay. It’s Labor Day, the height of the carnival season. Not one of them will give me a job for some reason.” “What seems to be the trouble?” I asked him politely. He said nothing. He unbuttoned his shirt quite slowly. With his eyes closed, he would answer me somnolently. “I hope to perspire enough, and have them all wash off. I’ve been hoping the sun would burn me, and they’d cook off.” With his shirt removed, he asked me if they were still there. I responded, “Yes they are”, and could not help but stare. Skin illustrations made their appearance everywhere. He told me, “My appearance is enough to frighten. So, I wear this shirt especially around children. They follow me on the roads with curiosity. However, they are all filled with fright when they see me. I know this seems to you to be a very strange thing. These things are staying on me; it all keeps on going. I am this way all over. I hope you understand.” He opened his fist to reveal a rose on his hand. It looked so real; yet it was just a mere illusion. His body was a pervasive colorful fusion. There were all sorts of images in three dimension. I said “They’re beautiful”. It was not my intention. To be continued Based on the short story "The Illustrated Man" by Ray Bradbury