Fan Fiction ❯ The Other Path ❯ The Other Path ( One-Shot )

Pacing back and forth he entered a trance as the tender autumn winds rustled the leaves to and fro on the pavement a short distance away. To feel, no to be, he thought but one with the wind, instead of one with the leaves, inaugurated into his mind a shot of determination. The shadow had been silent, merely pondering, for quite along time. Suddenly, as if being thrusted forward out of the shadow like a bird oft his nest on a exorbitantly windy day, he was lifted into a sudden exchange of oxygen with his throat, painting the air, as if it were merely a canvas, with the images his mind sought to display. "I know I must do what I seek to do, but who is to say I must do what I must?" By now his brow raised in frustration. He now began to realize what his argument was based on was illogical rambling that even a three year old could not top, or downsize (depending on how you view things).

It seemed like the earth had rotated three hundred full spins, and one hundred and thirty half spins, before she had arrived. Now his finger, not to say he has only one, as he pulled the knife from his pocket, began to shake spontaneously. His thumb, at one time, had been operated on and did not work in the most efficient of manners, or at least that's how he excuses what he knows is faulted at a much less superficial level, being that he is not a very superficial person and his conscience is the true culprit of the shakes..

His finger stops, followed next by the rest of time. It is in this moment that a casual viewer would be able to notice some of the less obvious details of the scenery. A closer look at the limo she arrived from would show another figure. The figure has a very similar outline although the true complexion cannot be seen through the rather dark window. If one were to turn one hundred and eighty degrees back to the scene of the upcoming crime, he might notice that there is a birth mark shaped like an `S' on the leg of the upcoming victim.

It is in the next moment that time commences again. It wasn't like the pause took up even a moment, yet it was some power I am quite fond of, and therefore find myself describing and bragging about quite foolishly, and quite often for that matter. Time commenced and his observations ceased, until the knife is thrusted forward. If one were to be experienced in philosophy and psychology perhaps the slight eye twitch and sporadic movement of his hands, as it thrust into the downfall of events in the rest of his life, would have helped to extrovert a plea for help.

The blood by now had been released from its pressure and had squirted violently onto the killer, like the ink from a fire alarm to mark the culprit whom pulled the lever. To say it would be vital, in relation to solving the case years later, one could not say.

After seeing the entire crime, and finding out what really happened, one might not be able to pick out a sure culprit. Sometimes it is not ones fault for being thrusted into the lustrous entity known to many as deceit.

As I sit here being the only to bear a burden such as being witness, and a judge of the crime by chance, and perhaps fate, I kept my mind open.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye. I looked back on the events of the past in the boiling pot of time. I saw the events of the next day vividly, and began to note flaws I had made. First I asked myself why I had been so cocky as to think I could prove the case. I felt that the risk of one day of my life could have helped the rest of one other's.

This thoughtful inquisition reminded me so vividly of a retrograde spin of 730 from now when my heart had fallen for the one I thought to be my forever. The fiery passion turned to burn marks and singed the very fibers that made up my soul. I realized that the lesser man would have done what I had witnessed from weakness and not from anguish. Perhaps it would be best to allow this one to escape, if only because of an experience I myself had.

The scenery around and the smell that filled the air changed to that of the mountain tops and a wheat farm sprinkled in sugar. The buzz and lights enough to make any man plea insanity, or turn from sane to that of the for mentioned illness. In my disguise I sat, pretending the murder had not existed, and the crime was that of a mysterious being.

I picked up the phone, and in this moment was given the first clue that someone was following me. "I know where and I know how," buzzed a electrical interpretation of the speakers voice, "If you do not confess to the crime's culprit… then you will go down for the crime."

At first I checked the Identification of the caller on as told by the presence or lack of, a melted crystal substance on a piece of glass. Within seconds the representation turned to electrical impulses and was interpreted as the phone number and name of this very phone.

"How do you call from the phone that I speak from?" buzzed my voice through the electrical wires of the phone, back to the same location, to be interpreted and outputted to the person I thrive to communicate with."

"Arise now, from your place of origin and follow me. If you choose to not admit who did the crime and explain how the crime had happened then you will fall at the hands of the killer," zapped a small set of electrical impulses, "In three days time, will be your demise. Finish now what you have yet to start, as I begin to complete what is already underway"

A click then a series of pulses representing the end of the arrival of the one whom knows a secret I just found out a month of months ago. How could I have been so foolish as to let someone who does not exist as an entity of me view what could end the eternity I thrived to exist for?

What is he in process of finishing, and what is it I have yet to start? Perhaps I ask myself a more viable question as to who he was and where he came from. Probably a part of the murder I said to myself, although I had received many calls like this before.

The night ceased to exist fast, although it was not an entirely dreamless night. He had the dream of regret he had for not doing something he should have done. He still wasn't over screaming out her name, although the original pillow had long since disappeared. Tears weren't below him yet he felt fear over yesterday's conversation enough to distract him from the mourning of today, though the process would probably never be complete.

His nose was aroused by a smell he knew to well as his own stench. How long was it since he had taken a shower, perhaps since the day she touched him, or so he smelt. He had showered just the day before but had forgotten to change clothing at night so he had fermented in his own body odor.

"Today will be the day I make the change in my life, today I stop mourning what which has already torn me apart so much," spoke a voice he had long since abandoned. Everything that existed in that old life he had chose to forget, except a memory which both haunted him and kept him alive at the same time. He thought how amazing it would be to find again what had never truly been his to begin with. "I hope she knows I still love her, yet I hope she has no feeling for me now…I have abandoned my identity in hopes for a new life," said a voice that sounded a lot less like his teenage geeky skater boy voice of yesterday, "I am no longer the man of the past, yet I seek not the results of the future. I learn now I must live in the moment, before it is gone." Rambling to himself he begin to feel a return of a personality which he found himself trying to discard with the rest of his old life.

To talk to oneself he thought, is to speak ones mind. "I am not one who speaks his mind," I said.

And although I don't know what will come of my future, I can always live in the present. With that he held his breath as catalyst to the stimulus that stops the reaction we know as the pulse of the crystal quartz, with that he begin to walk on his trek to a place of crime breathing in only his own pity.

"I stop time," he said, "yet I cannot find the past I seek for in myself. I thought to myself about how it could have been and begin to imagine what my life would be like, how much different it would be. "A house, a kid, the world… it would have all been so perfect," boasted a voice he had discarded. "SHUT UP, YOU ARE NOT ME ANY MORE," I said, in a tone that failed to hide how little I really wanted him to shut up.

A young boy, age 15 or perhaps 16, walked in front of him. He seemed to be staring at him even though time was still as far as he could tell.

"I know you…I have seen you before," screamed the boy in front of me.

"As do I you… if only in my dreams."

"Is that where we met? Did we meet in a fantasy world…and now we meet and I am who I said I was, as are you. Yet you seem reluctant and less hasteful now that we meet… are second thoughts tearing you apart?"

As if the world had torn him apart he begin to shake and shimmer, and then I begin to fear what might become of me in the end… even if the end was a moment ago. Even if I was on the edge of dying and had no hope for a breath after the turn of one more hour glass.

"I am you and you are me, are we not?" I said as I begin to pull a knife from my pocket.

"That we are… if only in your dreams," said the stranger that seemed so familiar to me.

"Are they not yours… you will no longer have to worry you shall enter your dream world forever," I thrust my knife through the heart of the mean in front of me, and at that fell to the floor dead.

In the background if someone were to listen carefully they could hear the one I sought for so long scream as they found me and scream as the lost me again forever. If given another chance I would have chose not to die, if given another chance the other path would have still looked as ragged as before, and a little less flat than this, but beyond the fog there is no cliff on the other path.