Flash Fiction

He pushed the wheelchair towards the steps.  He knew he couldn’t get up them and stopped directly in front.  He sat there and started screaming, slowly at first building to a crescendo.  The police were not called, the building’s security men stared at him through the rain misted glass.  Passers by, passed by.  No-one came to his aid.  He screamed himself hoarse.  After an hour he was exhausted and he pushed himself wearily toward his empty home through the driving rain.  That night he dreamt of chariots and death.  The next day he did it all again.