The Crossroads And The Cane

The Afrit And The Leper

I remember when things were fine. Like clockwork, you went to work every day that I did, and I would see you on the subway. I would ensure we sat across from each other so that every few moments I could peek past my book and take in your beauty. I could smell the perfume you wore as you sat, focused on your phone. Every now and then I would see you as I made my way home from my regular job and I would slowly trail behind as a wolf in the darkness attempting to ensnare my prey. I could tell from the pace that you felt me there, even if you did not see me. It went for days which eventually became months with you haunting my dreams as I'm sure I haunted yours. "Who is this man?" I am sure you said to yourself. Was I just a nice guy, or was I a culmination of all your fears? After every successful meeting in the dead of night, I would torture myself at the mere thought of bringing this act to a close. The few moments that I saw you speak on the phone would make my heart swell with excitement as I would be granted a rare smile. You were a work of art, although I have not seen you in quite some time. However, I always believed it would be me to be one to decide when the curtain would fall. I no longer have the opportunity to gaze at your flowing hair in the wind or experience the scent of the perfume. The last image of you that I recall is when you were taken away to someplace far. I am left with only memories of those times, as Gordon continues to remind me that I should find you because you will not return.

The streets are now bare from all the madness. Shells now walk the streets as the city has become empty, save for those that walk and stumble without a soul. Gordon, who sits in the corner behind me, long stringy gray hair and resembling an old man with claws scratching with every word he speaks, walks with me daily. He shakes and laughs, a memory of my first brush with death, and my first opportunity. The sound of chains as he walks behind me clouds my thoughts and at times I have to order him to be quiet. Although, he has always assisted me during these trying times. We watch as the dead roam the streets and he chuckles as he asks what do I plan to do. His smile exposes rows of perfectly spaced canines and a tongue of a snake as he whispers in my ear with the voices of those that have fallen to my blade. As time passes and I have gone without a trophy, their cries grow louder and louder almost begging me to add to their concerto. While now I can claim as I see fit, these do not bear a soul, and thus do not satisfy my hunger. Gordon's cries keep me from sleep but keep me alert as just outside my apartment door I can hear another one of the soulless take a step and drag the following one. He lurks in the halls and can smell me here, just as I used to smell you. He is not calculated as I was, and I loathe the day they became a reality and stopped me from my hunt. I was so close before the virus, and now I have yet to figure out where you have gone.

I must say that when this all began, I was actually frightened. A feeling I have never experienced before as I was the one with the blade. Gordon places a hand on my shoulder and tells me that even though I will not be satisfied with this target, I must hone my skills and never get rusty for one day the world may begin anew. Or even better, I may see you again. Slowly, I rise with a hammer in my hand as I approach the front door and look through the peek hole. As I observe through the fisheye lens, I see one walking about head hanging low. Gordon laughs and whispers that this one may be easy. I turn the hammer so the claw faces downward, and slowly begin to undo the locks. Gordon urges me to go. Slowly I creep and turn the corner to the opposite staircase. Dried blood painted the walls revealed by the sun which pierced the skylight on the top floor. Oh, how many have we had the blessing of sending back to Hell since this nightmare close to a year ago. Slowly I press on since I can only see those on my floor and have no idea how many may lurk below on the others. A loud struggle can turn their attention to me and will spoil my plans. Around the corner, I notice him staring at the backdoor of my railroad apartment which has been barricaded with furniture, and Gordon tells me that he has located my scent. Like a praying mantis ready to pounce I raise my hammer, and am met with its gaze from bloodshot eyes for a moment before the claw descended and pierced his head. He shakes violently, letting out gargled screams as black blood flows from his mouth. I abandon the hammer and race back to the apartment shutting the door and locking it. The game was over, but while I hear Gordon clapping behind me and laughing this was no different than killing a cockroach.