A man comes to my door who I haven’t laid eyes on in twenty years. I recognise him as an individual who used to bully me when we were at school. He has grey hair now, but the malevolent flame in his eyes has not departed with age. He says that he still wants to kill me, that he and his friends are still around, waiting for the right time to pounce. He points to a car that is parked nearby. Inside the car I can see three grown men with hate in their faces. One of them waves a gun out the window, and smirks sadistically.
I close the door and go back inside. My wife is sitting in the living room reading a glossy magazine with a picture of the latest James Bond actor on the cover.
Who was it, love?
Oh, nobody. Just a wee boy selling raffle tickets.
I sink into my chair and change the channel on the television, hoping my wife will not leave me when she discovers the pathetic secret of my lasting terror.
No comments:
Post a Comment