2 - Hoodwink

  Tyrus begins his walk towards the market stalls. All around him he begins to see individuals of all faces, some slanted jaws, eye missing, even an individual missing his two front teeth. As he continues walking every person he passes leers at him, turning away watching their merchandise closely. Their discontent and disgust at the individuals is abrasively shown upon their faces, but for Tyrus this was another day living on the streets and trying to make it to the next. Tyrus was used to these opinions, shifting away from others, the gazes that looked down upon him. Everyday was always a struggle, everyday was a challenge, but Tyrus always felt that life living above has to be better than living below. He never sought more than to survive and help others, it's what he was at least taught before everything became a struggle. He was also taught that it was better to move in many instead of by himself, but that you can truly trust anyone but yourself.

  As Tyrus continues up to his target, a figure in a brown worn down hood passes by. As both cross each other's path, time begins to slow down, individuals begin to be engulfed by a large black tunnel that is slowly encroaching the area that encompasses the area. Tyrus tries to move his body, but his arms and legs are constricted in place. There is no sound or voice that can be heard around, no breath other than his own that he can hear. He tries to move his head and yet his neck will not move, until he finally is able to shift his eyes to the side and finally see the brown hooded individual slumped over.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Take your seat” says the hooded man, in a wheezy voice as if he is gasping for air, but the sound of his voice echoes across this dark empty void as if all sound has decided to cease and amplify his words alone.

  “What is this? What seat? What are you trying to pull here? Are you some kind of demon?” says Tyrus as he begins to panicking and feeling the weight of this void oppress against him as if the void is sucking any seance of air and energy out of him.

  “Take your seat. The seat which your name is written upon” the man says, gasping these words, as if trying to inhale every bit of air that he can just to make an ounce of the sound.

  “Your seat is prepared and ready for you. The Tables await.”

  As those final words were said the void rescinds back, and the streets and people are seen and heard again, and Tyrus falls over on the ground as if he has just tripped over.

  “Hey Thief! Get back here with that!” shouts the fruit staller. As Tyrus rapidly shakes off the dirt from the ground, he begins to see fruit right below him, as if it was just laying there. He looks at the fruit and sees the fruit merchant pointing and shouting “Hey guards! Someone! Stop that urchin! He has stolen my fruit”. At that moment Tyrus doesn't have any time to think and begins his sprint through the market and away from the chasing guards and fruit stall.