Sighs Are Quiet

• Dina Ariani Jamal, Grade 10, Kinross College
• Short Story
• 2017

Excellence Award in the 'Spread The Word 2017' competition

"Everything will be okay, everything will be fine." He trembled.
The empty words carry through the late afternoon breeze, dissipating in the air along with his sanity.
The sweltering heat clouded his mind as he stumbles through the afternoon crowd, in need of his safe haven.

Weary glances were thrown this way and that, towards the rambling man.
"Honey, come on." A woman steers her child clear, as if being near the young man could plague them.
Innocent gaping eyes forever follow the crazed man, or rather the ominous figure lurking behind him. As if the shadow could sense the only eyes upon it, the being cocked his head sharply at the small thing, toothlessly grinning maliciously.
"That little girl can see me," it trilled excitedly, "can't we play with her Hannie?" The entity breathes through his long chocolate locks- once silky, now mussed by frantic hands, matted with filth.
"No!" Hans shrieks, hair lashing every which way, seemingly whipping away the patronizing form.

Quickening his pace, Hans can feel the cold sweat that accompanies the sudden drop of temperature with crystal clarity. Street lights flicker to life as the sun dies on the horizon. He needs to get home. Now.

Eerie silence keeps him company in lieu of the nagging oppression that commonly trails him. In a way, Hans finds it extremely disturbing. With the desertion of the voice; the shadow, it seems the crowd has followed its retreat, and the realization of being truly alone conquers Hans.

In the back of his mind he knows he's close to safety, the mere muscle memory of his feet is the only thing fulfilling any hope or certainty he'll make it back.

The familiar industrial workshops that litter the small town emit the poisonous smell of smog, tickling his quaint nose. This, is another indicator he is progressing. But, the bliss is short-lived, the sound of a pained whine and the sharp metallic tang of blood washes over his senses as he takes the detour, through the dimly lit alley way.

His body balked with his senses and what they implied. Another agonizing groan. Definitely human.
"Hello?" Hans cautioned, the flickering lights buzzed with the failing electricity humming through them.
"Hannie," a shiver climbs through his rigid body, "guess who?" The being sing-songs mockingly, like giving the man false hope is amusing. A game.

Catching glimpses of the shadow, with every flicker the being closes the distance between it and Hans.
"Every time. . ." Hans trails off feebly, "just go away." He whimpers.
It tuts, dissatisfied at the rejection.

"But look at what you've done." By some force or will of the damned thing, lights blare from the once dim street lamps, bathing the alley way bright and clear for the world to see.
The girl, unearthed, flinches and squints at the harsh light, gasping like a fish out of water. A killer has been here, obvious by the piercing wound just below her ribs. The bloody knife haphazardly beside her, pulled from the injury.

Her face, ash-gray, crumpled and tear streaked, is familiar.

The knife itself is something that Hans recognizes too.

Once the familiarity and recognition register on his face the shadow whistles lowly.
He's drowning. Drowning in the reality of the situation, drowning in the laughter that bubbles up the noxious throat of the figure. It shrugs as if to say 'I told you so' and Hans is at his last straw.

It's selfish. Hans knows. But he runs down the alley way, away from the suffering girl, away from the darkness.
Paranoia was something he lived by and the adrenaline rush that coursed through him did nothing to plunder it. All he could hear were his harsh pants, the blood flowing through his ears. Faint laughter flitted about, jounced by the buildings either side of him. Closing in on him. Looming.
More street lamps came into view and a renewed hope was illuminated as he escaped the alley way, the streets before him were barren, not a single sign of life.

But, his senses have never been reliable.

The deafening screech of rubber and asphalt pierced through everything at first and was no later followed by the blinding headlights. Unmistakable pressure clawed into his chest, bringing Hans down and crushing him. Haunting chuckles that never really ceased were the last of his memory.