Close your eyes

DiRaega By DiRaega, 17th Oct 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Short Stories

A short story about a man, one evening. It's about our futures and how the world changes. and our decisions relative to these changes

Close your eyes

Close your eyes, whenever you feel ready to open them again, do so and keep reading.

The world changed in those few seconds that you weren’t looking. It changed in many ways. Too many to count. For better, for worse, or for as little as makes no difference.

When the world changes we have access to a myriad of new possibilities, but also other things have access to us. We can be afforded a glimpse into our own future. Given a split second in which to shape our destiny. This is what happened to Affeski.

It had been raining all night. Not particularly heavily, but steadily. Steadily enough to fade into the nights background noise. It was now Four Thirty-Six in the morning and Affeski had been awake all night, sitting at his desk. He had been gazing out of the window and listening to the persistent patter of rain against the pane.
His desk was a mess, covered with the clutter of a disorganised mind. A few picture frames sat on one side, displaying faces, old, young, male and female. Some expectant, and others caught by surprise. Several empty cups were arrayed nearby as well, in various staged of age, congealed tea filling the bottom of each. Pencil shavings and ink smears decorated what little surface as was visible between pages and letters. The letters demanded everything from money owed to work due. Requests for his signature, for cheques, for contracts, for fans.
In the middle of the desk was a centre-piece around which the untidiness kept a discreet distance. One crisp white sheet of paper, unblemished and untouched. Affeski had held his pen poised above the page for many. His hand had rested, unmoving and dormant. Waiting for him to finish his thinking and to let the words form into a coherent beginning.
The man himself had been as still as the rest of the room, unconsciously part of the frozen tableaux. He had sat, staring fixedly ahead. From time to time his eyelids had fluttered as a new thought had passed through.
He wasn’t anything special to look at. His face was clean shaven but scarred. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had a mess of brown hair, falling down and covering his eyes, which were sunken but with twinkling black irides, almost like a beetles carapace. He was wearing a crumpled shirt, the collar unbuttoned and the tie cast off somewhere behind him the previous evening. His sleeves were rolled up and a tan line encircled his left wrist where his watch used to sit.

Eventually, after hours of inactivity, he gave a shudder and finally looked down at the pen in his hand. He placed it down carefully and stretched his fingers out, clenching and unclenching his fist several times before cracking his knuckles and picking up the pen again. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward onto his left elbow and began to write.
As he was sat there, the sky grew lighter outside and the rain lessened slightly. After a while birds began singing, and a few flew past close to the glass. They were paid no attention. A brilliant rainbow crossed the sky, and the sun flashed, low down in the sky, catching the glass and casting a prism of colours onto the desk, but they were likewise ignored.
The minutes passed and the plain white paper gradually filled up with the small crabby writing of a hasty mind.

Eventually Affeski sighed, he dropped the pen and watched it slowly roll across the desk to stop against one of the mugs with a faint chime, which rang out for slightly longer than you would have expected it to.


Somwehere in the house a clock began to toll the hour. Which hour, Affeski didn’t know, his eyes flicked to his bare left wrist.


He moved his head around in a circle, drawing the muscles taught in his neck to ease the cramp that had built up from hunching over.


Standing, he took a deep breath and arched his back too, spreading his arms wide in a final, satisfying stretch.


Almost as an afterthought, he leaned back over the desk, letting his eyes pass down the page to the blank inviting space under the final words.


He lifted the pen again and signed the very bottom with a flourish, this time setting the pen reverentially beside the paper, exactly parallel.


Turning on his heel he strode across the room to the door. He opened it, stepped through, and with a cursory glance back at the desk, pulled the door shut


The door shutting entirely covered up whether or not there had been a final strike from the clock. He found himself curious as to if the time was Six or Seven. Shaking his head to clear the thought, he crossed the hall to the stairs and tiredly began to climb.
It was an old house, with five floors. Ever upwards he headed, stopping on the last landing, he leaned on the bannister to regain his breath and to let his heart slow down. A long minute went by.
Affeski opened the only door on this level and emerged onto a roof terrace. The rain had all but stopped by now, leaving behind it a damp smell in the air and puddles underfoot. Stepping quickly from dry-spot to dry-spot he ended up at the furthermost corner, overlooking the garden and the fields beyond.
He lifted himself up to the stonework which formed the perimeter of the roof. From here he could see the birds nests in the window boxes on the floors below.

The man, stood on a roof high above the ground, closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, and the world changed.


Dark, Destinies, Destiny, Eyes, Future, Sad, Short, Short Fiction, Short Stories, Short Story, Short-Story, Story, Story Writing

Meet the author

author avatar DiRaega
I am a professional drum tutor. I like writing random stories and nonsense comes to me quite easily.

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