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The Endless Story
This story is about a man who wants to kill you.
He might be very close to you right now, he might be in your house right now. Afterall there’re many excellent places to hide, inside a cabinet, in the backyard, behind the curtains….
I have doubts not about the man, not about the story but about you.
This man is not from your time. There’re things beyond your comprehensions, You’re too old to think that you know universe.
Backstory : Twenty years from now. This man lives in a coast with his six year old daughter, the water is foam-flecked black and the sky is the color of steel.
Everything is harsh and cold except for the inside in house. Warm yellow light chirps from the window and shadows of moving fingers. And a smoke curls up from the chimney.
Inside the man reads a story to his daughter sitting on the armchair nearby the fire, and his daughter lays on his stomach alternating her focus towards the flames and the pages turning in her father’s hand.
“When you finish this one, can you read the next one” asks her daughter.
He says “are you tired of this one?” looking at the half of the book remaining.
“No, I don’t want this to be overed, I don’t want them to ever end” says her daughter while shaking her head.
He smiles and agrees, even though he knows she'll be asleep long before he'll have to pick out a new book. He knows how she feels. He neither want any of this to be over ever.
But at the moment suddenly a white shadow appears with a blast of blinding light that disintegrates the scene into dust and then fades.
The man comes out of it soaked into sweats and see’s few broken wooden and a limb of his armchair below him. And an inky black ocean.
And his daughter is gone.
What he finally finds is not what he is looking for. He discovers a way to go back. But innovation is never as neat as any of us would like.
He can only travel back a set number of years, way before his daughter is born.
So before he goes back, He researches. He spends hours in the library, flipping through files, searching for something new.
And maybe searching for you.
And then he makes the leap, jumps back a few decades, emerges the same, into a world transformed.
The colors seem brighter here, the smiles wider, flashing ferociously, a brave old world.
Waiting. Watching.
So where is he now?
Soon you might know better than me.
I understand you’re not a killer.
But neither this man with tiny shoes and wide shoulders, who may be in your house right now?
Maybe you killed this man’s daughter? Not yet, not now. Twenty years in the future?
Years can change us.
His story can be partly your story, too
I fear it may be too late, and I’ve done all I can. Please, listen.
Not to me.
A sound. Can you hear it? It’s inside your home. Maybe the creak of a door or a soft muffled step on the carpet. Or a shallow inhale of breath? that’s not yours...
He’s there. Do not shout, or call for help.
Remember the story? He doesn’t wants this to end.
© lonewolf
He might be very close to you right now, he might be in your house right now. Afterall there’re many excellent places to hide, inside a cabinet, in the backyard, behind the curtains….
I have doubts not about the man, not about the story but about you.
This man is not from your time. There’re things beyond your comprehensions, You’re too old to think that you know universe.
Backstory : Twenty years from now. This man lives in a coast with his six year old daughter, the water is foam-flecked black and the sky is the color of steel.
Everything is harsh and cold except for the inside in house. Warm yellow light chirps from the window and shadows of moving fingers. And a smoke curls up from the chimney.
Inside the man reads a story to his daughter sitting on the armchair nearby the fire, and his daughter lays on his stomach alternating her focus towards the flames and the pages turning in her father’s hand.
“When you finish this one, can you read the next one” asks her daughter.
He says “are you tired of this one?” looking at the half of the book remaining.
“No, I don’t want this to be overed, I don’t want them to ever end” says her daughter while shaking her head.
He smiles and agrees, even though he knows she'll be asleep long before he'll have to pick out a new book. He knows how she feels. He neither want any of this to be over ever.
But at the moment suddenly a white shadow appears with a blast of blinding light that disintegrates the scene into dust and then fades.
The man comes out of it soaked into sweats and see’s few broken wooden and a limb of his armchair below him. And an inky black ocean.
And his daughter is gone.
What he finally finds is not what he is looking for. He discovers a way to go back. But innovation is never as neat as any of us would like.
He can only travel back a set number of years, way before his daughter is born.
So before he goes back, He researches. He spends hours in the library, flipping through files, searching for something new.
And maybe searching for you.
And then he makes the leap, jumps back a few decades, emerges the same, into a world transformed.
The colors seem brighter here, the smiles wider, flashing ferociously, a brave old world.
Waiting. Watching.
So where is he now?
Soon you might know better than me.
I understand you’re not a killer.
But neither this man with tiny shoes and wide shoulders, who may be in your house right now?
Maybe you killed this man’s daughter? Not yet, not now. Twenty years in the future?
Years can change us.
His story can be partly your story, too
I fear it may be too late, and I’ve done all I can. Please, listen.
Not to me.
A sound. Can you hear it? It’s inside your home. Maybe the creak of a door or a soft muffled step on the carpet. Or a shallow inhale of breath? that’s not yours...
He’s there. Do not shout, or call for help.
Remember the story? He doesn’t wants this to end.
© lonewolf
