The sight of blood would make him sick even if it exuded from a minor cut or wound. It wasn't his squeamishness, rather a kind, loving nature that wished to see no one getting hurt. He could be masochistic enough to bear all the pain himself letting a fellow-being live a life of comfort.
The atavistic urge of self-preservation had never touched him. If he had been hit by a car, the first thing he would think of was the reason that led to the motorist's distraction resulting in the accident; perhaps the motorist had problems of his own or he was preoccupied and so on and so forth.
He could never accuse people. Whenever he met someone, his eyes searched for the goodness inside that man even if that minuscule thing was buried beneath layers and layers of malevolence, greed, hatred and deceit. Such people are at a premium and an endangered specie.
For such a man, survival in the brick-metal-concrete jungle of a city is no less difficult than the survival of a hapless deer amid a pride of lions in the real, unforgiving wilds.
I wonder what God was thinking when He decided to send such a creature to earth, an earth which has fallen to such depths that humanity is a vestige of what it was at the dawn of the earliest civilization. Mankind is probably reverting to that time when survival was the key, the centre of a man's existence and fellow-feeling existed in a form that is evinced by animals only.
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