Post by Tennisbollen on Feb 7, 2008 20:33:17 GMT 1
Good Night
While sitting in his torn armchair and reading a newspaper article about all imaginable unfortunate events in the world outside, he felt the cold air brought to him by the dusk gather around him. He folded the newspaper neatly and put it on the table beside him, rose up from the well used furniture and limped towards the fireplace. The fireplace was an important part of the small house; it had occurred to him many times that it felt as if they had built the house around it, the only source of heat within the building, he had never been able to afford electricity of any sorts. When he reached the fireplace he realised all wood was gone. He shivered just at the thought of getting outside in this weather, but he had no choice.
The weather was far worse than he had expected, the heavy rain hammered down on his bald head and he could hear distant noises of thunder, though the weather was not the first thing he would remember from this night.
Reaching the ramshackle garden shed he stopped, leaned on the wall and breathed heavily, he was certainly not the athlete he had been during his adolescence. But that was fifty years ago now and he had suffered from several diseases that would make you exhausted merely pronouncing them. Another sound could now be heard, an annoyed moan between the occasional thunder noises. Without paying much attention to the alien sound he picked up his hatchet and some pieces of wood from the shed and started to cut them up by the light of his paraffin lamp.
Suddenly the moaning felt close to him and he felt that another living being was present outside of his house this cold autumn night. Slowly raising both of his hands, one with a tight grip around the hatchet handle and the other holding the lamp. In the dim halo created by the lamp he saw a glimpse of two catlike eyes. The pain in his chest was suddenly unbearable and he fell to the ground.
The following morning he woke up in his bed with three parallel cuts on his chest surrounded by dried blood. He rose from the bed a bit too fast and the pain in his head was throbbing intensively. When the pain started to cease his thoughts wandered back to what had happened last night, seeing the cat-like eyes over and over again. Slowly he started to remember what had happened a night about thirty-five years ago, he had been on a boat and the weather had been tough which had made him incapable of sleeping. That’s why the eyes had been so familiar…
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Good Retrospective Morning
His hammock rocked from side to side along with the brutal waves that continually hit the by rust stained fishing trawler. The storm was wailing outside and he had severe problems falling asleep. They had only been off shore one day when the bad weather had struck them, causing not just the amount of caught fishes to gradually decrease but also their sleep to be limited. A couple of fishermen had already capitulated to the wind and gone with the waves down to Davy Jones’s locker.
Each night he cursed the day he had signed up for this fishing boat. He had been in a desperate need of money and not really thought about the consequences. This night was by far the worst of them all and he had long since given up the hope to be able to sleep. A howling sound now joined the wailing of the wind, it was a sound he had never heard before. It ceased a couple of moments later, just like the wailing, the silence was complete. He hurried up on deck to find out what was going on, he had but reached top of the stairs when two cat-like eyes appeared before his face. They shone as if they were made of purest gold and the pupils were thin as whiskers. With a deafening roar they disappeared.
He remembered he had found himself in the hammock, with wounds on his chest, just like what had happened last night. The entire thing started to scare him a lot. Last time, thirty-five years ago, he hadn’t thought of it much afterwards, he had been far too young and arrogant to think of such ridiculous things.
What was this creature that twice had hurt him? Had it hurt him? Why did it come to him? Had anyone else been attacked by it… or was he alone?
The winter was approaching and he had a feeling this winter would be fatal to him. He was old enough to not be bothered by death anymore, he had accepted that the end was near for him. “No time to worry about that now, my feet are cold” he thought and limped toward the fireplace, just like yesterday, when it struck him that the wood he chopped up still lay outside his garden shed. Without having any other choices but to go out to fetch the pieces of wood he picked up his leather coat and, just in case, one of the kitchen knives.
When he saw the cat walking around the wood he almost stopped breathing, he held the knife towards the uninvited visitor, which simply looked up at him with its golden eyes. The only reason he did not walk back into his safe home, locked the door and went to bed again was the fact that he needed the wood and his childish curiosity. Eventually the cat started to walk away and he picked up the wet pieces of wood. Little did he know of the other cat standing behind him with its glare piercing into the bald man’s back.
- Tennisbollen
While sitting in his torn armchair and reading a newspaper article about all imaginable unfortunate events in the world outside, he felt the cold air brought to him by the dusk gather around him. He folded the newspaper neatly and put it on the table beside him, rose up from the well used furniture and limped towards the fireplace. The fireplace was an important part of the small house; it had occurred to him many times that it felt as if they had built the house around it, the only source of heat within the building, he had never been able to afford electricity of any sorts. When he reached the fireplace he realised all wood was gone. He shivered just at the thought of getting outside in this weather, but he had no choice.
The weather was far worse than he had expected, the heavy rain hammered down on his bald head and he could hear distant noises of thunder, though the weather was not the first thing he would remember from this night.
Reaching the ramshackle garden shed he stopped, leaned on the wall and breathed heavily, he was certainly not the athlete he had been during his adolescence. But that was fifty years ago now and he had suffered from several diseases that would make you exhausted merely pronouncing them. Another sound could now be heard, an annoyed moan between the occasional thunder noises. Without paying much attention to the alien sound he picked up his hatchet and some pieces of wood from the shed and started to cut them up by the light of his paraffin lamp.
Suddenly the moaning felt close to him and he felt that another living being was present outside of his house this cold autumn night. Slowly raising both of his hands, one with a tight grip around the hatchet handle and the other holding the lamp. In the dim halo created by the lamp he saw a glimpse of two catlike eyes. The pain in his chest was suddenly unbearable and he fell to the ground.
The following morning he woke up in his bed with three parallel cuts on his chest surrounded by dried blood. He rose from the bed a bit too fast and the pain in his head was throbbing intensively. When the pain started to cease his thoughts wandered back to what had happened last night, seeing the cat-like eyes over and over again. Slowly he started to remember what had happened a night about thirty-five years ago, he had been on a boat and the weather had been tough which had made him incapable of sleeping. That’s why the eyes had been so familiar…
------
Good Retrospective Morning
His hammock rocked from side to side along with the brutal waves that continually hit the by rust stained fishing trawler. The storm was wailing outside and he had severe problems falling asleep. They had only been off shore one day when the bad weather had struck them, causing not just the amount of caught fishes to gradually decrease but also their sleep to be limited. A couple of fishermen had already capitulated to the wind and gone with the waves down to Davy Jones’s locker.
Each night he cursed the day he had signed up for this fishing boat. He had been in a desperate need of money and not really thought about the consequences. This night was by far the worst of them all and he had long since given up the hope to be able to sleep. A howling sound now joined the wailing of the wind, it was a sound he had never heard before. It ceased a couple of moments later, just like the wailing, the silence was complete. He hurried up on deck to find out what was going on, he had but reached top of the stairs when two cat-like eyes appeared before his face. They shone as if they were made of purest gold and the pupils were thin as whiskers. With a deafening roar they disappeared.
He remembered he had found himself in the hammock, with wounds on his chest, just like what had happened last night. The entire thing started to scare him a lot. Last time, thirty-five years ago, he hadn’t thought of it much afterwards, he had been far too young and arrogant to think of such ridiculous things.
What was this creature that twice had hurt him? Had it hurt him? Why did it come to him? Had anyone else been attacked by it… or was he alone?
The winter was approaching and he had a feeling this winter would be fatal to him. He was old enough to not be bothered by death anymore, he had accepted that the end was near for him. “No time to worry about that now, my feet are cold” he thought and limped toward the fireplace, just like yesterday, when it struck him that the wood he chopped up still lay outside his garden shed. Without having any other choices but to go out to fetch the pieces of wood he picked up his leather coat and, just in case, one of the kitchen knives.
When he saw the cat walking around the wood he almost stopped breathing, he held the knife towards the uninvited visitor, which simply looked up at him with its golden eyes. The only reason he did not walk back into his safe home, locked the door and went to bed again was the fact that he needed the wood and his childish curiosity. Eventually the cat started to walk away and he picked up the wet pieces of wood. Little did he know of the other cat standing behind him with its glare piercing into the bald man’s back.
- Tennisbollen