8th Short Story

As I watch her drown, I realise I cannot help her. My hands, wet from ferociously wading into the icy autumn waters of the lake, slowly recoil from their frantic slashing, hoping to grab hold of some sort of fabric and drag the girl from the water.

I watch her, silently screaming at me to help, her eyes pleading with complexion far beyond her tender age. She becomes less and less dynamic; Death creeps up behind her and…

I leave the waters, as to not disturb the surface tension itself, and leave as a shadow. I stalk down the walkway, disjointed from what just happened and as I pass a homeless man he stares at me with fierce judgement in his eyes. He knows what I am.

I continue to take my long strides down the black strip of asphalt, keeping my pace as if not to stop and not be able to start again. The path seems to continue to the horizon. I know that it doesn’t though, it’s just a trick of the eyes, and the path ends at the general store, where I buy my milk and bread everyday.

I keep on pressing forward, against the wind of deception. I gradually muster the courage to look back at the lake. I see the waters peacefully lapping at the frosted edges of the bank and the brown and yellow trees sway slightly with the whispering wind, passing word of the ill-fated girl.

Bile rises in my throat and I turn back to the path in front of me and hasten my pace. I stumble at my sudden switching of attention, and the black path mocks me with its perfect surface, showing the entire fault to be mine. But it’s not my fault, not the defect of my doing.

My legs mechanically overtake each other, running on pure adrenaline, the fuel of shock. At least my mind still works; my sanity is still intact, my health not completely diminished. I catch a vision of the girl’s last expression.

Why? Her eyes ask.

I cannot help you, even if I saved you from drowning. I replied with sympathy in my eyes.

A light! Up ahead on the black path, a light cuts through the low hanging fog and promises its radiance to any passer-bys. I breathe, for what seems like the first time in eons, and my legs numbly travel towards the light. I realise, as I move closer to the light, that it is the illuminator of a sign.” The Lonely Traveller Inn”. Although I had passed down this path many times, I had never seen this sign, then again I had never been through so much torment in so long…

The inn was directly ahead. The darkness of the very early morning cloaked the building and so all I could see was the outline of the door, which had light streaming in from behind it, breaking through the seams between the frame and door itself. My hand subconsciously grabbed the handle, which I could not actually make out, but knew was there. I twisted the cool metal beneath my fingers and pushed.

A low powered light bulb hung from the ceiling, unprotected from dust settling atop of it. The floor was stained with ancient spillages and splatters, burns and scars; the unlacquered timber floorboards showing their age with this unkempt charisma. A cold breeze licked my naked neck and I shut the door slowly, as to not disturb the dust, which seemed to collect itself on every surface not hidden by another material.

A noise from in front of my vision, covered in darkness. I freeze, wait for another noise.

“What business do you have here?” an old, parched voice asked in its wispy tone.

I do not reply. Dust swirls from the direction of the voice and light caresses the figure, making it into a silhouette.

“Why do you come to this place?” the silhouette asks again in its wispy voice.

My thoughts break down at this, my armour shed itself and my secrets burst from their cells locked deep within my mind. I reply simply.

“I am a leper, do not touch me.”