Breakdown of Reality

               Old Frank shuffled along the side walk, staring blankly about him. He cringed at sights that no one saw and stopped to observe what were obviously imaginary scenes. He wore an old sweater that was ratted, torn, and smelled of old garbage. A knit cap in similar condition sat atop long curly gray hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks. He had on a pair of dark blue jeans with holes in their knees. He didn’t push a cart, didn’t stop at trash cans, and never asked for money, in fact, no one was sure how he sustained himself. Sustain himself he did, however, because he was there.

               The city was large enough that no one gave him any trouble, small enough that he was still an oddity. A street punk once thought to try to mess him up a little, and got broken bones for the effort. Word circulated in that community that you should just leave Old Frank alone, it wasn’t worth it.

               As far as the people around him could tell he made no contributions to society, but he never asked for anything from society, so they let him be. He was just a weird old man.

               “They’ve forgotten about you,” the small green kobold said to Frank as he walked by his side.

               Frank sighed and looked the kobold over, small, scaly, and knobbed kneed the creature’s nature was to inspire greed in those around him. Frank had broken him of his feeding habits and bound him to his side instead of banishing him like Frank did the kobolds stronger kin.

               “Maybe,” he responded, “But I haven’t forgotten them.”

               “What’s that matter?” asked the kobold, “All that you do for them, fighting off my brethren, and they can’t bother with you anymore. Only reason they don’t do something… more permanent to you is because your ‘gift’ keeps you from interacting with them.”

               “Maybe,” he responded, “But I haven’t forgotten my responsibilities.”

               The kobold laughed, it was a deep, dark, and scary laugh.

               “Responsibilities?” he said, “You’re an old man, Frank. And the rest of your kind thinks you’re crazy.”

               A small smile crept over his face as he said the last bit.

               “And who knows,” he said, slyly, “Maybe you are?”