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The agonising repetition of H.R. Crisp
The agonising repetition of H.R. Crisp
Published by Q.H. Crumm
10-08-2015
The agonising repetition of H.R. Crisp

As said in the synopsis, this is my first attempt at writing something worthwhile. Please feel free to offer any comments or suggestions for improvement. One good thing is that it's very short, so if it is terrible the poor reader will not have to endure it for too long

The agonising repetition of H.R. Crisp.

As I sit in the window booth of my favourite Diner in our busy town near the northern border, a sudden feeling compels me to turn and look at the window. I see myself, H.R. Crisp, but not, as you may imagine, my reflection in the glass. I see my actual self, making my way through the rain across the street outside.

He, or should I say I? enters the Diner , walks over to the window booth I am seated in, and sits down opposite. He opens his mouth to speak, and then suddenly disappears, fades from existence before my eyes. A certain panic strikes me, and I glance nervously around the restaurant to see if anyone else has witnessed the same thing I believe I have. Not one other patron seems in the least bit interested or remotely concerned.
I close my eyes and squeeze them together tightly, then rub them with balled fists in an attempt to ensure this is not just my mind playing tricks. Tricks which could have been brought on by the extreme tiredness, but also crushing insomnia which I assume has arisen from spending too much time at my work. As the black stars in my vision gently subside I notice I am still alone.

The next day I am working in my small cubicle in the dingy office of the Quark organisation, the location of my current employment as an accounts clerk. A feeling of mild claustrophobia impels me to take a break from the monotony and make my way outside. I wander aimlessly through the small park adjacent to my office in our busy northern border town, the events of the previous day in the Diner turning over in my mind. I glance up at the trees, stripped of the leaves by the onset of autumn. Mist hangs in the air and cold rainwater drips from the branches, which are set in stark contrast against the grey sky.

I take rest on a park bench and gaze vacantly into the rain soaked gloom, when by perfect chance a stranger makes his way to the bench and takes rest himself. He does not sit down near to me, but rather at the opposite end of the bench. He looks across towards me and gives a gentle nod fixed with a small grin. Then, still grinning, his eyes move skyward and he points upwards. As I look up into the grey, rain-filled sky I see an amazing light suddenly accelerate towards me. After the light hits me there is nothing visible but the purest white, then after some amount of time (I am unsure how long exactly) something begins to return. A distant feeling and muffled sound makes its way slowly into my consciousness. My vision is still blinded by the purity of whiteness.

I am then suddenly hit by a feeling of cold wind and rain. When the brilliant white light dissipates and my vision finally returns, I am standing on a street corner in something of a downpour. It is a street I recognise very well, mainly because it happens to be the street on which my favourite Diner is situated. I take a closer look across the street at the window of the Diner I have frequented for so many years. I am shocked to see myself, H.R. Crisp, but not, as you may imagine, my reflection in the glass. I see my actual self, sitting at the window seat.
5 Thanks From:
Calenture (10-14-2015), cynothoglys (10-08-2015), Druidic (10-12-2015), miguel1984 (10-08-2015), xylokopos (10-08-2015)
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