The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 5

He reached for the dust with trembling fingers and swiped it over as if he was caressing the waves on the shore. He lifted his hand to the level of his eyes and the dust would sprinkle down like a thread of glittery bits of smashed crystal.And then for some reason, he began to cry.

He could swear he has never seen that woman in his life, there was no questioning that, but he also knew she looked eerily familiar. And when she turned into dust, he felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest and burnt to ashes. But all that didn’t really matter because he was yet to answer the big question: Where am I and how did I get here?

He gathered the dust and tried to fill his pockets with it, then he headed to a big wooden door at the end of the room. He turned the knob then hesitated for a moment before pulling it open. How does he know what’s behind that door? What if there was nothing but a deep, dark abyss there? He hates darkness, and he’s severely acrophobic. He looked arounit was the only way out and there were no windows, no waysee what’s waiting for you outside. It was either to stand there for what seemed like forever, or to muster some courage and just pull the door open.

He wasn’t a courageous man, but he went with the obvious choice, for after the things he’d seen so far he thought he was ready for anything.

 

Soon enough he would learn that he was sadly mistaken.

 

He opened the door in a swift move, like ripping away a bandage. A huge gush of wind pushed him back and it was hard to open his eyes. A moment later the wind stopped, and he would finally open his eyes, only to wish he didn’t.

 

To be continued, or not

Previous episodes

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 4

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 3

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 2

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 1

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The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 4

He rubbed his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was true, and not only the product of what seems to be a very confused mind. He wasn’t a man who looked into people’s eyes but he knew by default and with however little common sense he had that when you look into someone’s eyes you see your reflection,  you don’t see people running around, babies being born, a war in motion. You don’t see any of that. You don’t see a life.

Something told him what he saw was the life of that woman being replayed for him in the blue of her iris. He didn’t know the names, the dates or any details, he just saw everything. He took a step back and as he tried to open his mouth to speak he felt a powerful force pulling him forward, a force he couldn’t resist. He started to get smaller and smaller, and all of a sudden he was sucked inside the blue eyes of that stranger, and into the story of her life.

What he saw there was like an uncut footage of a movie. There was a small girl running around with a kite, a teenager sobbing silently in her room and in the far corner sat a woman in her thirties in front of a mirror, brushing her hair.

He walked up to her, and before he could see her face she turned around with a sudden motion. He recognized the blue eyes, but the smile was new to him, although he wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that age would take such a heavy toll on this woman, who was hands down the prettiest thing he’s ever seen in his pathetic life.

“Your late” She said bluntly

“You were waiting for me?” He replied hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure she was talking to him

“All my life.”

“But… why?” It made less sense than everything he’d seen on the way to her

She gave him a look of confusion, as if he should know. “Because I love you” she said with a cracking voice, as if she had a lump in her throat.

“What?” He was lost now

“What… do you find it strange that I love you?”

“No, I find it strange that anyone loves me at all”

She laughed a silent laugh with her hand over her mouth. She reached and tried to touch his hair, but she couldn’t. Her hand was going through his face like it was but a shadow. She raised her hand in front of her face and contemplated it with a horrified expression. She looked at him with teary, terrified eyes and, then, she turned into dust…

 

To be continued

Previous episodes

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 3

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 2

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 1

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 3

He ran out to the garage as if he was being chased by a herd of hungry wild dogs. He hopped into his car, only to find the steering wheel on the other side. He was too perplexed already to give it a thought so he let it slip. He started the engine, and it revved with a roar of a hundred lions.

After driving for half an hour, he realized that he had no destination and that he was roaming the streets aimlessly. Everything was on the wrong side, he felt like his world had been sucked into by one big mirror, and he warmed up to the idea.

There were no people on the streets, and it hit him as odd. He was starting to grow weary, for he’s always had that crazy idea that one day he would wake up to find out that humanity migrated to another planet and left him behind, and now the idea seemed more plausible than ever.

Just before he was getting ready to break into a fit of screaming, a woman showed up on the sidewalk. She looked like a woman who’s been around for a long time, and had paid a heavy toll. He pulled over and scrambled out of the car. He thought if he asked her she might be able to help him make sense of his surroundings. He ran up to her but before her could open his mouth to say a word he looked into her eyes and saw something he has never seen before, or even imagined he’d ever see…

To be continued…

The Man Who Killed the Cricket – 2

His eyelids were tightly glued together, or that’ show he felt trying to open them. After a little struggle, his eyes opened to a haze, and he was staring at the ceiling in his room again, only it was daytime, and the sun rays were out to get him, viciously harassing his face.

What happened in the tool shed? How did he get here? He didn’t give it much thought and demised it all as a bad dream. But, that cricket, that insolent cricket… that wasn’t a dream, he was certain. And at the that memory, he jerked up from bed like a man hit with a 1500 volt electric shock. He reached to the closet, but instead his hand bumped into the mirror. He was sure the closet was there on the right wall. He looked around to see it there, on the left wall. He shook his head, wiped his hand downward over his face and told himself he was disoriented.

He grunted under his breath as he left the room, or was about to, just before he hit the wall where he remembered the door was. He fell back on the ground, his eyes roamed the place, everything was on the wrong side, and the whole room looked like an inverted photo of his room as he knew it.

He dwelt on it for a minute, then fished the car keys out of his pocket and head out.

To be continued…

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…