Nickel

Questions/Comments are welcome at: The Writers Stand

This afternoon I saw a little boy standing at my glass door looking at me. I had been sitting in the living room, opposite the door, for quite sometime. I was so focused that only the sun streaming through the glass and my book existed. The doorbell never rang and I never heard a knock. I simply looked up with the feeling that someone was watching me and there he stood. Silent and nearly as focused as me.

Our eyes locked as I walked to the door. I could see the hate in them. His hair was black as night and framed in his well-defined face. I had only seen his clothes in old photographs of Native Americans. As he shifted his hands I saw he held a neatly folded blanket.

"Who is this child?", I asked myself reaching out for the door handle. I tried to place him, but couldn't. Other thoughts ran though my mind: Where did he get his clothes? How long has he been standing there? Why does he look so angry?

My hand stopped just short of the handle when I saw the sun shining into the room. He was not casting a shadow! I glanced behind myself to see my own shadow and looked back at the boy. Slowly, but deliberately, he raised the blanket and passed it through the glass. My eyes started watering. I stopped breathing and stood in sheer terror. Only by instinct did I hold my hands out to receive the blanket. I felt his hands brush mine and then felt the blanket with all of its weight. It was cool to the touch. Our eyes were still locked when the boy took a step backwards and disappeared.

I was looking at the place where the boy ghost once stood when I noticed dust tickling my nose. I let out a terrible sneeze. My head bent forward toward the blanket. My nose and lips brushed it momentarily. As I straighted my posture and focused my eyes, I saw the blanket slowly disappear too. Finally, my hands held nothing.

It took me hours to calm down. And several hours beyond that to realize that I had been a victim of biological warfare..