Followers

Monday 11 July 2011

MY ONLY JOY

One Tuesday you are taking an evening stroll along familiar streets in your own neighbourhood when you feel a pair of eyes burning into your skin. You spin around but there is nobody there; the street is quite empty.  Still you are not content, so you quicken your step until you are almost running. You hear a sound, but is it the echo of your own footfalls or the determined stride of a would-be assailant in hot pursuit?  A small boy with glasses is sitting on a step crying, but you do not have time to stop and comfort him. In the distance you hear the jangle of an ice-cream van but cannot distinguish the tune.  All of a sudden from out of nowhere, your own front door looms up in front of you.  The key is in your hand now but has become entangled in the lining of your coat pocket; you rip it free and joust with the lock, finally gaining entry as the darkness of night slams down behind you.  Leaning back against the door, you reach out for the light-switch but another hand beats you to it. You see a pair of dark eyes, a neatly-trimmed moustache and a flicker of lukewarm light on cold steel.  Now you are grabbing your chest with both hands and collapsing noiselessly onto the floor. The last sound you hear as you slide into nothingness is a tinny rendition of Greensleeves.

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