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3: miss mystery
THREE. (guard's pov)
Do not miss the first two parts.
This is the final part.
The long road upon the church is weary, but it remains standing by time. Marked on it is the history and age. The chirping birds, meanwhile, harmonize the silence of a Sunday morning. And the blooming pink and white flowers are solemnly dancing with the green grass as the wind whispers.
There's a man in a well-formed suit and a tie sitting on the bench outside the church. His face is apparently covered by a supersized newspaper, making him unrecognized, or even unseen.
My white robber shoes are almost coffee-colored and ragged, and my misty forehead sweats like November rain on my glass window. And my knees tell me to drop in somewhere. Well the churchyard is the nearest possible answer, so I take the chance to ease the numb of my body.
The church, however, is covered with plain seal and shy wood doors. It's Tuesday, probably, there's no occasion, as it only opens on Sunday, the reason why the church is quiet. But it offers a single bench outside, it's half occupied by a stranger man who's now reading. I have no choice but to induce the space. I sit next to him.
Silence... There's a deafening sound of silence. Few seconds has slipped away but there's still silence... I clear my throat to distract the mood, but the man is decisive to maintain his eyes moving side by side to every single letter of the newspaper.
"The birds are noisy, aren't they?" I said with an awkward face to attempt to break the silence between the bench.
The man doesn't dare to give a feedback. So I chuckle. And it makes the man moves his head sideways. And finally, he gave me a glance to see his beautiful face. He is wearing a black eyeglasses. He slides it half down in a mysterious way. And smiles a little. Still there's silence.
"Do you know me?" the man greets me with a question. He has a deep manly voice.
"If I lose my counting to the number of population on earth, I may know you." I replied. After saying this, a sharp guilt attacks me. I should've said more reasonable words.
The truth is, the man is eighty percent familiar to me. He makes me think of the apartment or a mall where I exactly saw him. But I can't remember it anyhow.
"Are you supposed to get inside?" the man asks as his eyes continue to shovel the newspaper.
I am paralized by the question and my mouth can't speak a single word. I can't answer him.
"I guess that's a no!" the man soothes his voice.
"Well... Hmmm... I don't actually believe in God." I said with a shivering sound.
"But I-I-I..."—
"That's fine!" he says with giggles.
"I'm living with a wife and a son... happily." I suppose.
"How 'bout you? You seem familiar to me. Do you rent a place? Have you been in..." I line up some questions to investigate his personality.
The man doesn't answer but he stands up and attempts to walk away.
"Were you auditioning for an opera actor?" I suddenly ask. "I was there, too... As a utility. I used to work there."
"I better go!" the man slips away like a wind. He brings his shoes and tie, but the newspaper leaves a print of the strange man.
Misty bubbles grow over my head, thinking either I offended the man or he just didn't like a serious conversation. But who cares? I just want to take a rest.
Meanwhile, the newspaper on the bench magnetizes my attention. I grab it. The front news reveals a murder case of a girl named Willa about weeks ago. Three sketches of suspect are on the left side of the page— one young lady, one adult woman and a good-looking man. And that man exactly looks as the strange man who had just slipped off.
My hands lose its energy as they hold the newspaper in that very moment... I remember the night on Willa's apartment where I used to guard. I remember the drug I took before that night. I remember the bloody knife at my back. I remember where I dropped the gyved keys from my pocket. I remember the blood. And I remember the sound of Willa's scream.
© ubik
Do not miss the first two parts.
This is the final part.
The long road upon the church is weary, but it remains standing by time. Marked on it is the history and age. The chirping birds, meanwhile, harmonize the silence of a Sunday morning. And the blooming pink and white flowers are solemnly dancing with the green grass as the wind whispers.
There's a man in a well-formed suit and a tie sitting on the bench outside the church. His face is apparently covered by a supersized newspaper, making him unrecognized, or even unseen.
My white robber shoes are almost coffee-colored and ragged, and my misty forehead sweats like November rain on my glass window. And my knees tell me to drop in somewhere. Well the churchyard is the nearest possible answer, so I take the chance to ease the numb of my body.
The church, however, is covered with plain seal and shy wood doors. It's Tuesday, probably, there's no occasion, as it only opens on Sunday, the reason why the church is quiet. But it offers a single bench outside, it's half occupied by a stranger man who's now reading. I have no choice but to induce the space. I sit next to him.
Silence... There's a deafening sound of silence. Few seconds has slipped away but there's still silence... I clear my throat to distract the mood, but the man is decisive to maintain his eyes moving side by side to every single letter of the newspaper.
"The birds are noisy, aren't they?" I said with an awkward face to attempt to break the silence between the bench.
The man doesn't dare to give a feedback. So I chuckle. And it makes the man moves his head sideways. And finally, he gave me a glance to see his beautiful face. He is wearing a black eyeglasses. He slides it half down in a mysterious way. And smiles a little. Still there's silence.
"Do you know me?" the man greets me with a question. He has a deep manly voice.
"If I lose my counting to the number of population on earth, I may know you." I replied. After saying this, a sharp guilt attacks me. I should've said more reasonable words.
The truth is, the man is eighty percent familiar to me. He makes me think of the apartment or a mall where I exactly saw him. But I can't remember it anyhow.
"Are you supposed to get inside?" the man asks as his eyes continue to shovel the newspaper.
I am paralized by the question and my mouth can't speak a single word. I can't answer him.
"I guess that's a no!" the man soothes his voice.
"Well... Hmmm... I don't actually believe in God." I said with a shivering sound.
"But I-I-I..."—
"That's fine!" he says with giggles.
"I'm living with a wife and a son... happily." I suppose.
"How 'bout you? You seem familiar to me. Do you rent a place? Have you been in..." I line up some questions to investigate his personality.
The man doesn't answer but he stands up and attempts to walk away.
"Were you auditioning for an opera actor?" I suddenly ask. "I was there, too... As a utility. I used to work there."
"I better go!" the man slips away like a wind. He brings his shoes and tie, but the newspaper leaves a print of the strange man.
Misty bubbles grow over my head, thinking either I offended the man or he just didn't like a serious conversation. But who cares? I just want to take a rest.
Meanwhile, the newspaper on the bench magnetizes my attention. I grab it. The front news reveals a murder case of a girl named Willa about weeks ago. Three sketches of suspect are on the left side of the page— one young lady, one adult woman and a good-looking man. And that man exactly looks as the strange man who had just slipped off.
My hands lose its energy as they hold the newspaper in that very moment... I remember the night on Willa's apartment where I used to guard. I remember the drug I took before that night. I remember the bloody knife at my back. I remember where I dropped the gyved keys from my pocket. I remember the blood. And I remember the sound of Willa's scream.
© ubik
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