Familiar Stranger

Another glance back. Only the flickering streetlamp illuminated the stony path. The night was exceptionally dark, without any moon or stars, and utterly quiet, except for the cries of the skies; the tears shed tonight were more than ever, dawning its gravel sadness upon the earth and relieving itself. That, and the whispers of the river over which the boy stood, looking down at it but occasionally glancing behind.

His eyes wandered, observing every building, every pole, every pebble on the path, every corner. Perhaps, not every, since he missed the one in which I was standing behind the shadow, because he looked back down at the river. The river was gentle; it always was, never too fast, I liked to believe it was kind. The boy quivered, it seemed to me in sync with the sound of the river.

I learnt I was wrong; it wasn’t all too quiet. It wasn't the storm, not the river. For I heard a piano, a humble tune playing. Humble it seemed, because deep down it was crying. The tone wasn’t sad, but I knew. It was screaming, shouting for help, wailing for someone to save it. To whom and from what, I was unaware. But it stayed humble as it was, almost like it didn’t want anyone to know its little secret.

Anyone but me.

I was familiar with the place, neither a piano nor a player resided here.

The tone suddenly picked it. A sharp note. I made my way out of the shadows, my clothes dampening. My hand reaches my back pocket, I grab the handle and slowly take it out, the knife blade glistening under the streetlight. I tread through the puddles, moving softly to not splash water and avoid the attention of my target.

The notes slowly picked up as I moved forward, a new note joining with every step.

And then it stopped.

I held the knife at the boy's throat.

As if on que, the boy turned and met my eyes.

He was on a pedestal. I pictured when I stood there, and the fear filled eyes, the tear struck face. Which was what I had expected, I was even sure given the occasional shaking from the boy.

I had never seen eyes more peaceful. Nearly joyous. The shaking was laughter, the blue orbs were not feart but serene, the kind one can only long for. He held gaze, all but mocking me.

Then there was the fear, I almost missed it for his figure disappeared.

My knife was red. I had done what I had to do, but it wasn't me.

I moved closer to the bank and looked down. I barely saw it with the rain blocking my view, but there he was, his body gently sinking into the water.

I closed my eyes.

There were those blue orbs, looking back at me. The same mocking gaze, and they seemed happy. No, not happy, but in pain. They tried to reach out to me but couldn't. I tried to hold them but couldn't.

I opened my eyes.

The orbs didn't disappear.