Walking in the Night

January 13, 2011
By Kshred BRONZE, Mequon, Wisconsin
Kshred BRONZE, Mequon, Wisconsin
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His last few weeks had been the longest. Traveling down the dirt road, his empty burlap sack slung over his shoulder, he trod on. What else could he do? No hotel would give him a room, and he could never find any work in the nearby factories.
Clouds flooded in from the corners of the sky, and soon, rain began to fall. Shivering, he drew his bag over his head to stave off the howling, biting, slobbering wind. However, his eye caught movement through a tattered hole in the cloth, and he unmasked himself. Bright lights pierced the darkness, and drew closer from the horizon. He frantically waved his arms and called out, desperate for help, or even some small company. However, the vehicle sped off into the night. Looking back, he felt the car was flashing a red warning not to follow. He gathered his muddy sack and continued on. Why would anyone stop for him in the middle of the pouring rain, anyways?
The hours bled into one another, and became days, which in turn became weeks. Time, however, stood still for him as he walked along the desolate road. His bag, encrusted with dirt and grime, slumped across his shoulder, as if it had given up all hope as well. He came upon a town, but not a new town— no, this was one of the OLD towns— and found himself at an intersection. Standing there, he realized that he had forgotten his destination. He then began to ponder which way to go. He stood still, contemplating his choices, for a very long time.
The moon hung high in the sky, and the night was silent and A noise jolted him awake. There was a scuffle of dirt across the corner. Shaking with fear, but not daring to move, he stood in the shadows and watched. Before his eyes, a shadowy figure made its way across the intersection. The man stared, shocked. His cloth sack dropped from his hand, and settled on the floor. He began to walk forward, taking each careful step slowly. Turning sharply, he fell in line behind the other. Not a word was spoken, and they continued on.
Later, the next day, a truck rumbled across the dirt road, a young woman at the wheel. A young child, her chin resting in her hand, casually glanced out the window, counting a mysterious pair of footsteps by the road. Something caught her eye.
The footsteps had disappeared.

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