The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 1

It was a few minutes past midnight, a silent breeze caressed the curtains while he sat there, a man who smelled of cigarettes and failure, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to collapse under the pressure of his unwavering gaze, somehow.

It was a perfect moment of complete and utter silence, his long-time best friend, and as he felt the power mustering up and he could almost see the ceiling falling down over his head, with his eyes wide open, not so much as a blink, just before the bricks came cascading down, a cricket started chirping.

Now everything was in place again, but the silence was disturbed by one wretched creature, and it had to pay. He crumbled up to his feet, nostrils flaring, hearing the noise of a million passing trucks humming inside his head. And like any man who’s been abandoned by sanity would do, he set out to find that miserable six-legged transgressor.

He snatched the door open, kicked a sleeping cat off the mat, which had been sleeping there for as long as he remembered, and proceeded towards the tool shed. He hustled for a flashlight, no sooner he grabbed it that he turned around like a whirl of dust in the Arabian Desert in mid-May, and as he pressed a small rusty button to switch it on, 2 pair of red-eyes flashed in the dark, and he felt the ground pulling him down, and the walls of the shed closing in on him, while he struggled to escape, in a silence disturbed only by the chirping of one wicked nocturnal midget.

To be continued…

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