The Man in the Darkness

© 1997 Marc Westenburg
All rights reserved.

Seen dimly,
Faintly in the darkness.
A shape, a shadow, a shade.
"What is it?" I ask myself.
"What can this be?"
As I move, so does the shape;
Soon I see a dim outline ... it is a man.
Fear grips my heart;
I wonder if he sees me.
He stands there in the distance,
A statue made of marble.
Once my heart slows, I begin again,
Unsure of what will become of me.
The air suddenly seems sinister and evil;
Every shadow a lurking assassin;
Every noise in the dark a charging monster.
My breathing is ragged, my stomach in my chest.
I continue on, as does my mystery man.
More aspects of his appearance become clear:
He wears a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat.
Panic gets the better of me.
A knife appears in my trembling hand.
To my horror, the shadow reveals the same.
Moonlight glistens on the silvery blade.
I crouch down and creep forward,
Ready for an attack.
He mimics me smoothly and gracefully,
Snaking towards me.
He carries my death.
At last, knowing myself to be outmatched,
I stand.
He does the same and stares at me;
His hidden gaze chills my bones.
I raise my hand.
"What do you want with me?" I ask.
Silence.
"Please, tell me!" I cry, pleading.
Silence.
He does not move.
Cautiously I reach out to him,
My heart beating in my chest.
My eyes widen as he reaches for me as well.
Cold, smooth glass meets my fingertips.
The man quivers, as do his surroundings.
I push, and the world before me spins out of control.
Vertigo.
A crash.
The sound of breaking glass.
I look down, and there below me...
Are hundreds of those men,
All peering up at me from a myriad of glass shards.

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