Quick Fix


It began to rain. The narrow streets were poorly lit. Keith wanted to walk more quickly, but was afraid he would get lost. He could barely recognize the area. The old bakery on the corner was closed, as was the shoe repair shop next door, though the blinking sign above the darkened shop window was still on. The next block consisted of a vacant lot. Keith looked around for a bus stop, but couldn’t find one. The streets were empty—not a single person, or even a stray dog or cat could be seen. A few cars passed quickly by, spraying the narrow sidewalk with dirty puddle water. Keith’s shoes and the bottom of his pants were wet, and he was getting cold. To warm up, he began to walk faster. He felt a bit uneasy; he thought that someone might be following him. He stopped and listened intently. Not a sound. Keith started walking again. Yes, somehow he could feel that there was a person following him. Who was it? What did he want? Keith turned a corner and hid behind a metal Salvation Army collection bin. Again he listened closely, but he heard no steps. Was it all in his imagination? The rain intensified. Keith surveyed the area, hoping to find a bar where he could get directions or call a cab. But there was nothing open in sight.

Keith kept walking. He glanced back and thought he saw a small figure dressed in dark clothing. A kid, maybe. If by chance this kid had a weapon, then Keith could be in for trouble. Although he was in great physical shape for  a man of forty-four, he nevertheless felt he might be in danger. When he reached the end of the street, he looked back and saw the small figure standing at the beginning of the block. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a boy. Keith began to walk even faster. The fear he felt was irrational, yet when he noticed the apparent stalker rapidly closing the distance between them, Keith decided to run. He ran until he felt a pain in his side. He stopped for a moment and bent down to catch his breath. To his amazement, Keith caught sight of two black shoes on the sidewalk, right behind him. His pursuer was standing right there! Keith had stopped for only a few seconds, and yet his pursuer had caught up with him.

Yes, it was a kid; short and slim. A black scarf covered the kid’s face; only his eyes were visible. Brown irises, floating in white sclera, stared at Keith. There was a gun in the kid’s hand; it was so close that Keith could clearly see the polished metal shining under the streetlight. His heart jumped—not just out of fear, but because he recognized the gun as his own. There was a distinctive scratch on the barrel of the Glock. It was definitely his own gun.

“What do you want?” Keith, who was still catching his breath, forced out the words.

The pursuer didn’t answer, but signaled to Keith to keep walking. Keith obeyed, while desperately trying to remember when he had last seen his gun. He always carried it with him. Had he lost it? No, not possible. But of course he wasn’t carrying it now. How had that happened? Keith looked back and there it was, in the kid’s hand. What sort of nightmare was this?

At the  kid’s direction they turned right into an alley that ended in a brick wall. Keith turned around. He tried to stay calm, so that he could attempt to negotiate a way out of this bizarre situation. He lowered his head in an abbreviated nod. “What do you want?” he  asked again.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)