The Shroud of Self-Loathing

He rushed across the platform as the train doors began to close. His clothes were tattered, reeking of urine and alcohol, and he wore a patch over one eye and a blue baseball cap. The people on the train pulled away as he walked by them, avoiding eye-contact by burying themselves in the morning newspapers and i-phones and blackberries.

She overheard him, despite the songs playing on her headphones, talk about how he'd been homeless for seven days, how the good lord jesus christ would bless everyone aboard the train for helping a hungry man feed himself, anything, please, any spare change will do. He walked back and forth, his speech slurring as he explained he had lost some teeth in his left jaw which hurt due to an untreated gum infection. She couldn't seem to drown him out, engrossed as she was on her hand-held device, feeling frustrated and extreme pain in her conscience. People, they sighed and rolled their eyes, looked up and looked down, fixated on anything that didn't involve empathizing with this man. The doors opened and closed and he continued to plead for help, may the lord watch over you, may he bless us all and help us in our time of need.

She wrestled with the voices in her head as his voice seem to grow louder and louder, she debated whether giving this man a dollar would help him buy food or crack, whether it would relieve her of her own demons, whether it would set an example for others, whether it would make a difference. People watched as she approached him and handed him some money, made eye-contact and smiled at him as he gave her a toothless grin. Suddenly everyone was watching her. She left the train and didn't look back.

What could possibly be worse than ignoring the plight of others?

Feeling helpless.