write me a face

I killed Pathi too soon. But then again, did I ? Kill him I mean ? It had started to suck no ? Like a vacuum cleaner. But I didn’t kill him. Left him in limbo. Ready to be shot by Baava. Smile for the camera dead man. The only decent thing in that bit was the title. I carry home quarter bottles of Romanov. A twenty pack of cigarettes will last me through the night. Pathi is just a figment of my imagination. I’m pretty sure of that. It all started as a fun little story I spun for my bloodthirsty little nephew. There is no Pathi. So who’s the fucker in the long black coat following me ? huh ? He’s gone when I turn around. He’s not around when I’m riding through town. But every time I walk home from the wine store, the cyber café, the grocery shop, he’s there. I can sense him like an insect on my neck. Flies away before I can crush it. I should kill him off. I should. So why don’t I ? I don’t know. Because I can’t. So now he’s following me. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. He’s fucking following me ! It was just a joke, it was just a joke, it was just a joke. Oh god I’m sorry.

Four times today. He makes no effort to conceal himself now. Its like he wants me to see him. He lets me see him. I know he’s there. Behind me, in front of me, brushing past my shoulder. He’s everywhere. I rush home every evening. I stay in a cell. Nothing can get in. Nothing can get out. I try my best to live normally. Still, the few people I meet regularly begin to remark on my nervousness. He’s every where. Every where. Why ? How ? I’m scared. I know he’s coming after me. I know I should have killed him. Not too late fool. Kill him. Now. Can’t.

I don’t go out anymore. It was like he was sitting on my shoulder. An evil malicious presence. not human. Not animal. He smells like nothing. I’m so scared. The doors are locked the windows boarded up. I do not switch on the lights. I live in darkness. I must plan a way out of this. But panic will not let me mind work. Beyond fear. Blind terror. I know everything he’s capable of. I know what he can do. This is not madness. He is.

I’m not crazy. Nope. What scares me the most. ? He’s not crazy either.

There is only one thing to do. Kill him. Now. I turn on the computer.

From behind me. A sandpaper cough. A voice. Rough and almost unintelligible. “You forgot something.” I turn around. For once the wheels on my chair make no sound. I look. He’s there. Right there. Not eight feet from me. Sitting on my bed. Legs crossed beneath him. Still in a long black coat. I cannot see his face. My mind has switched off. Images register but there is no feeling attached to it. Completely numb. I ask him, “ What did I forget ?.” His face comes out the shadows. Or what should be his face. There’s nothing there. Nothing at all. Empty space. Like Omega in Dr. Who And The Three Doctors. He bends slowly, a little towards me. Answers me. “ To write me a face, Mr. writer man. Write me a face.”