The air is putrid. I crave a smoke.
A cashier with vacant eyes. I point to a shelf behind him. He turns around, my hand darts over the counter, his cigarettes in my pocket along with some loose change. The cashier returns, but it is not my brand. My mind is already out the door.
In a dim room, a man is humming a familiar tune. The tobacco burns faster at this hour. There is a drink in front of me. My mind is elsewhere. Devoid of thought or overstimulated. Feast or famine.
I light another. It is the last, but I am insatiable. I haven't stopped since I began.
Something is being asked of me but there is nothing I have to answer for. I leave without paying. Walking through the alleys, I can feel the darkness. Again, I crave a smoke.
There is another store. A practiced game. I count the pack, seven left. Not bad.
I find another bar. Another character is asking questions. This city is lousy with people. I am almost out again, someone must have snaked me.
I step outside, sweating. It is cold and I shiver. I find no escape.
There are more stores, more bars. I am certain that there are more people. There is a song being sung which I think I recognize.
YOU ARE READING
The Labyrinth
Short StoryA short vignette about a hypothetical man living in the walled city of Kowloon. Inspired by Dostoevsky's famous thriller which explores the mind murderer, this short story explores the mind of a man who is immoral, a thief who believes he lives in a...
