The Void

The world is a blur of black, like someone smeared ink over my eyes. All I hear is the screeching of the train, metal grinding against metal, a sound that claws at the inside of my skull. It’s the kind of noise that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a machine, just another cog spinning toward nowhere. I’m on the subway, wedged between bodies that don’t care I’m here. My eyes are heavy, like they’re fighting to stay shut, but a voice cuts through the haze. “Aye, brother, can you help me out?” My lids flutter open, slow, reluctant. There’s a man standing in front of me, swaying with the train’s rhythm. I start at his feet—shoes that might’ve been white once, now brown and busted, laces frayed like they’re holding on for dear life. His jogging sweats reek of sweat and time, and his shirt’s misbuttoned, one side longer than the other, like he got dressed in the dark. I don’t look at his face. Why would I? Faces carry weight, and I’m not here to carry anything extra. I shake my head, a silent no, and he shuffles off, his stench trailing him like a shadow. As he moves down the car, he waves to a kid sitting across from me. The kid—maybe ten, with a gap-toothed grin—waves back, unbothered by the smell. Everyone else pinches their noses, their faces twisting like they’ve tasted something sour. The kid doesn’t care. He sees the man, really sees him, and for a second, I’m jealous of that. Not of the man, but of the kid’s ability to look without judgment. The train screeches again, louder this time, and the operator’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Next stop, Union Square.” My stop. The doors slide open, and I step onto the platform, swallowed by the crowd. No one looks at me. No one ever does. It’s not like I’m begging for stares, but there’s something human about being noticed, about someone saying with their eyes, *You can see me?* I don’t know. Maybe I’m asking for too much. Outside the station, the city hums—cars honking, people shouting, the pulse of a place that never sleeps. I pass a homeless guy sprawled on a bench, his body curled into itself like he’s trying to disappear. His cardboard sign reads, “Anything helps,” but his eyes are closed, and his breathing’s heavy, like he’s dreaming of somewhere better. I stop. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way he’s clutching a tattered blanket, or maybe it’s the way no one else seems to care. I dig into my pocket, pull out a crumpled five, and tuck it under his hand. He doesn’t stir. I wonder if he’ll even know it was me. I keep walking, my boots scuffing against the cracked sidewalk. Where am I going? To find my purpose, I guess. That’s what I tell myself when the days feel empty, when the world feels like it’s spinning without me. I’ve got no grand plan, no map to meaning. Just a vague pull in my chest, like a compass that’s half-broken but still points somewhere. The city doesn’t care about my search. It’s too busy with its own chaos—vendors hawking hot dogs, tourists snapping photos, suits rushing to meetings that probably don’t matter. I weave through them, invisible. At a crosswalk, I catch a woman’s eye for a split second. She’s older, her face lined with stories I’ll never know. She looks away fast, like I’m a ghost. *You can see me?* I want to ask, but the light changes, and she’s gone. I end up in a park, one of those patches of green that feels like an afterthought in a city of concrete. Pigeons scatter as I sit on a bench, the wood splintered and cold. Across from me, a street performer strums a guitar, his case open for coins that aren’t coming. He’s singing something about love and loss, his voice raw, like he’s lived every word. A few people toss quarters, but most walk by, heads down, earbuds in. I watch him, wondering if he feels invisible too. He catches me staring and grins, mid-chord. “You can see me?” he calls out, half-joking, half-hoping. I nod, and his grin widens. For a moment, we’re both real. I toss a dollar into his case and move on. The park’s alive with people—kids chasing each other, couples arguing, an old man feeding squirrels like it’s his life’s work. I wonder what their purposes are. The kids probably don’t think about it; they’re too busy living. The couples might be fighting over theirs. The old man? Maybe he’s found it in those squirrels. Me, I’m still looking. The sun’s dipping low, painting the sky orange and pink. I wander toward the river, where the city’s noise softens, replaced by the lapping of water against the shore. There’s a girl sitting on the embankment, sketching in a notebook. She’s young, maybe twenty, her hair a mess of curls spilling over her shoulders. Her pencil moves fast, like she’s racing to capture something before it’s gone. I sit a few feet away, not wanting to intrude but curious. She glances up, her eyes sharp, like she’s sizing me up. “You can see me?” she says, not looking up from her sketch. I’m startled. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect. “Can you see me?” She smirks, still sketching. “Hard not to. You’ve got that lost look, like you’re waiting for the world to tell you what to do.” I laugh, a short, bitter sound. “That obvious?” She shrugs. “Most people are lost. They just don’t admit it.” She flips her notebook toward me. It’s a sketch of the river, but not just the water—there’s the city skyline, jagged and proud, and in the foreground, a figure that looks suspiciously like me, sitting with his shoulders hunched, staring at nothing. “That’s me?” I ask, pointing. “Maybe,” she says. “You’ve got a face that tells a story.” “What’s it say?” She studies me, her eyes narrowing. “That you’re looking for something you don’t know how to find.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. She goes back to sketching, and I watch the river, the way it moves without caring who’s watching. I think about the bum on the train, the kid who waved, the homeless guy on the bench, the street performer. All of them, in their own way, asking to be seen. Maybe that’s what purpose is—not some grand destination, but the small moments when someone looks at you and says, *I see you.* The girl closes her notebook and stands, brushing dirt off her jeans. “Keep looking,” she says, like she knows what I’m chasing. “You’ll find it.” Then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd like she was never there. I stay by the river until the sky darkens, the city lights flickering on like stars that forgot how to shine. I don’t have answers, but I feel closer to something, like I’m on the edge of understanding. I get up, my boots heavy against the pavement, and head back into the city. Somewhere out there, there’s a purpose waiting for me. And maybe, just maybe, someone will look at me and say, "You can see me?" And I’ll say, "Yeah. I see you."