He Walks In My Black
“When I close my eyes he walks,” said the old woman. She said she was eighty but her eyes looked many times that age. “When I open them, he stops. He’s walked my whole life, starting in the desert when I was just a girl.”
I was passing through the tiny village on my way to the Alps, and had got chatting to this frail, fatigued lady in the sunny square. I wondered what she meant, but with my drink finished and cycle tyre changed, I needed to leave.
“They’ll not see me again,” she looked beyond the village sign to the forest. “He’s in the trees now.” She stood and hobbled that way, southwards down the lane.
It took a while to pack up, but by early evening I glided south towards Monpartre.
At the head of the valley I stopped to check the map and noticed an enormous figure striding across the field way below. He wore what appeared to be wide hat and, as impossible as it might seem, was easily the height of nearby mature trees. I saw a cottage beyond. Smoke rose in the chimney, but there were no lamps lit.
Shuddering, I cycled on.
I was passing through the tiny village on my way to the Alps, and had got chatting to this frail, fatigued lady in the sunny square. I wondered what she meant, but with my drink finished and cycle tyre changed, I needed to leave.
“They’ll not see me again,” she looked beyond the village sign to the forest. “He’s in the trees now.” She stood and hobbled that way, southwards down the lane.
It took a while to pack up, but by early evening I glided south towards Monpartre.
At the head of the valley I stopped to check the map and noticed an enormous figure striding across the field way below. He wore what appeared to be wide hat and, as impossible as it might seem, was easily the height of nearby mature trees. I saw a cottage beyond. Smoke rose in the chimney, but there were no lamps lit.
Shuddering, I cycled on.
- submitted to the Grey Matter Press Masters of Flash competition for November (200 words exactly needed)
