Flash Fiction

He had no home.  He wandered from day to day, place to place.  As soon as it became apparent that anywhere, no matter how anonymous, was in danger of becoming somewhere he moved on.  He packed his small bag and struck out for nowhere.  He drifted like the desert sands.  He was tangibly a nobody. But against his wishes, everybody tried to force him into being a somebody.  And the everybodies wanted to spoon feed him spoonsful of direction.  Wanted to make him swallow what he could not swallow, taste the unpalatable.  But it only made him sick, ill, unfit.