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A Man Named Guilt

Alex has taught at four public schools, been accepted into three honorary societies, and traveled the Americas and Europe. He has his AAT.

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A Man Named Guilt

There was a man named guilt. He's a man we all tend to find, if we have the terrible privilege. He's not a handsome man, but he can be charming. But this is just an act of deceit. He truly is an evil man...

I ran. I didn't wince, even though branches slapped my already red face. I ran through the surrounding darkness of the forest Irhoporin-Kiok. I could no longer suck in the air that teasingly surrounded me. I had to stop, and thus did so with a grinding halt. I bent to a ninety degree angle, grabbing my knees in exhaustion. I suddenly shot my head to my rear. Was he still there? Could he find me now? My senses gathered no attention. As a result, I returned my head to it's original place, blinded by relief.

"Greetings, Mr. Korosu," stated the man standing two feet from my white face. "I believe our last interaction was rather brief..." Guilt was not a very tall man, nor was he short. An old scar was still visible, sitting to the left of his right eye. His hair was black, but there was some white given by his immensely old age. Despite this, he gave bare too few wrinkles. He wore a slightly dirty, slightly torn business suit. Drops of dried blood painted his shirt sleeves. His eyes were very dark, as a black hole; empty but still gathering much attention. His nose was almost normal, spare a small turn to the left. His lips were dry and wrinkled, but they still managed a smile...

"Well then, Mr. Korosu...," Guilt began.

"Wait!," I quickly interrupted. "Can't you just find someone else?"

"Afraid not young lad. Though I fear that your petty running is in vain. I will always find you. Even if you don't come to me, I will to you. So, why don't we make this rather awkward encounter a little more simplistic. Come to me, young lad, and I'll make this quick. Otherwise..." His smile widened increasingly while, without taking his absent eyes off my own, he took an ancient, rusted butcher's knife out of his right pocket. He placed it back into it's home and said, "Your choice, I'm afraid."

I knew he spoke the truth. I, now looking to the the dirt under my feet, slowly approached the well-dressed man. I then felt an atrociously ugly pain in my left knee. I dropped to the ground. I observed the horrifying scene of a mad man stabbing my chest. I was soon too shocked to any longer feel the pain. And all I could see was darkness, the darkness of his eyes...

© 2020 Alexander James Guckenberger

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