fantasy · Fiction · stories




Walking in the middle of the familiar supermarket crowd, just like any other Thursday night. But he had gotten an unusual feeling the moment he had set foot in the store… Everything was the same, yet, everything seemed slightly different. And he couldn’t put his finger on what made him urge to be on the lookout.

He walked through the aisles, thinking his brain was playing the paranoia card on him, and he had to turn to the list he had in his back pocket several times. His thoughts were straying, staring at strangers for a while, then shaking the crazy feeling off his mind.

Although he knew it was a day like all others, it felt like a mysterious shadow was draped around his shoulders all along his walk. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it obsessed him all the same.

When he heard the soft voice calling his name, he stopped instantly. In front of the bread display, he stood there, completely still, numbed by the chill that had crawled its way up his spine, right to the base of his skull.

He had gone crazy. The ghostly voice couldn’t possibly be real, and he knew it. He had imagined it many times, too many to say the truth. But never before had he actually “heard” it. Not like this, not this clear and loud.

The voice called again, and he watched other customers, hoping to see them turning to look a few feet behind him. But everybody kept minding their own business, not even noticing that he was stepping out their “sane” world just before their eyes.

Part of him wanted to turn around and be greeted by her smile, but he knew better. Even if she didn’t believe in “impossible”, he did, and this was far beyond impossible. But the voice was exactly that, he had kept in the back of his mind when he needed to confide in her…  The same pitch, the same softness, the same sweet languor that made his name sound like a poem.

He yearned to face her, even if he didn’t know what he would do next. But why wonder? He asked himself, knowing this was just the fruit of his wild imagination…

Once again, the voice called to him. This time his heart skipped a beat. There was a finality in the tone, there would be no fourth calling. His nervousness peaked, leaving his palms wet, and his breath short.

He could almost smell the spicy touches of her perfume… He could recall every detail of her, but that was just memories… Long gone. Long long gone. He feared the deception of turning around to realize he was good for the looney pit would be the end of him… How could he go on, knowing he had lost his marbles?

Still, the need to see her once more was more powerful. And fighting the envy to get walking again, without looking back, he slowly turned to face the origine of what he wanted to beleive to be her voice…

“Please be real” he implored silently…


to be continued…






6 thoughts on “Thrice…

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