from my story book Paradox of fiction
Excuse me… Sorry… My bad… Just passing through…
For fuck’s sake, can’t anyone see I’m walking here? Where the hell did all these people come from? Of all days, why today? I have to make it. I promised. And now, this mess.
How much time do I have left? Ten minutes? Fine, I can make it. I’ve never been late.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Fuck off, man. I don’t want a fight. I’m not running away; I’m just in a hurry. Seriously, I don’t want this shit right now.
It’s not far now. Just two more blocks. How many times have I walked this street, and there was never this many people?
Maybe there were, but maybe I had an extra minute back then. Well, not today. Not this time.
Another fucking red light. Goddammit. Should I just run for it? No, there are cops right there. Great. Guess I’ll wait. Come on, light. Fucking change already. What the fuck is wrong with this thing? Is it broken? He glanced around. Everyone else just stood there calmly, waiting. Like they had all the time in the world. He checked his watch again. Where the fuck did all that time go?
Finally, the light changed. The crowd started moving, two streams of bodies colliding like opposing armies. A fucking battlefield. And each person only fighting for themselves.
“Sorry… let me help you up. No, I didn’t knock you over, that was them.”
He noticed the man’s white cane. Fuck.
“Which way were you going? Okay, let me walk you across.”
And now, he was back on the wrong side of the street. For fuck’s sake. The cops didn’t move, just stood there, one of them giving him a thumbs up, as if to say, “Nice job, buddy.”
“Thanks, pal. But I’d appreciate it more if you, your buddy, and that goddamn thumb of yours were somewhere else.”
He gave the cop a polite nod, masking his frustration.
Another red light. The same fucking crossing. Same side, but less time. My fault, he thought. Should’ve left earlier. Better to wait at the destination than to rush last minute. Dumbass.
He checked his watch again. Remember this crossing. Red lights here are cursed. You can’t fail. They’re counting on you to be there. If you mess this up, they’ll never come again. No second chances. Not for you.
He moved to the edge of the crosswalk, positioning himself to avoid the oncoming human stampede. Two shotguns facing each other, loaded with people. He had to stand clear of the blast.
Green light. Go.
He was the first across. Fucking finally.
Three minutes. That’s all I’ve got. Just three fucking minutes. Four hundred meters and two flights of stairs. If you were twenty years younger, no one would even notice you running. But you’re not. You’re twenty years older.
The crowd thinned out a little. Just enough to give him a chance.
Here. A few steps left. He was sweating, but he’d made it. Honor intact. He pressed the doorbell.
No sound. He pressed it again. Nothing. He knocked. Harder this time. Neighbors must’ve heard that. He glanced at the peephole of the apartment across the hall and saw the light shift—someone was watching him.
He knocked again. Was I on time? Did I mix up the time or the day? No, this is the right day, the right hour. I’m sure of it. But here I am. Alone. Just me and the neighbor watching through the peephole.
He heard faint whispers and stifled laughter.
Fuck this. He’d done his part. He turned and headed back down the stairs. Even if you do everything right, no one gives a shit about your reliability.
I’ll call them. I’ll figure out what happened. Maybe they got stuck in traffic too, fighting their own fucking red lights.
Out on the street, he looked around. Nothing. No one. That street packed with people earlier was now empty. Well, almost. Just one woman walking her dog.
Everyone’s gone. Vanished.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. It rang. At least it rang. But no one picked up. Just the same damn ringing. Over and over.
No one.
Fuck this shit….
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