There is an old man staring at me from the other side of the road; I only have glimpses of him from time to time, and when I try to stare at him longer, he would vanish once I blink.
I met him four times: when I was a child, a teenager, an adult, and as an old man. We never had a conversation, and we just looked at each other like familiar strangers.
The first time I saw him was when I crossed the pedestrian lane with my nanny, and there I found him staring at me with his tired eyes. I stared at his wrist and found that he wore a watch the same as my father's. My nanny told me to focus on the road, and when I looked back, he was gone.
I had my father's watch when I entered high school, and I was walking with my friends at the town plaza when I saw the same old man standing close to the mailman's office, nodding at my direction. We wore the same wristwatch, and then one of my friends drowned us with his fancy tales, and when I turned my head to the direction of the old man, again, he was gone.
Five years passed when I was walking with my wife and son on the same pedestrian lane when I met the stranger again, staring at my wife with sadness. My son, a six year old child, was oblivious to my wariness with the stranger who followed me for years. But he did not stay long and disappeared again behind the passing car.
I was sixty-years old when I met the old man for the last time. He was wearing blue shirt and so did he. Actually, we looked totally the same.
We smiled at each other.
When he vanished, I found myself disoriented, and then I found myself standing on the pedestrian lane, where I saw a young boy walking across the road, guided by a middle-aged woman whom I presumed as his nanny.
Then, I saw a teenager walking on the town plaza wearing my wristwatch, and I was back to the pedestrian lane, where I saw a bearded man wearing my wristwatch, walking happily with Our late wife and Our son.
At a certain point in time, we met again, as two old men tired of the world, and so the cycle continues.
YOU ARE READING
Tales of the Other
SciencefictionThere is a Higher Reality that our minds had not processed yet. Probably, our psyche can only process a limited degree of information, or subconsciously, we are denying the existence of the Other. Deep inside us, we could be nothing but insignifican...
