Aloha
· Times read 2
Poetry

He Opened His Eyes

He Opened His Eyes
He opened the drawers one by one. Some old books. A deck of cards. A box of matches. Aha! He put the matchbox in his trouser pocket
He opened his eyes

He opened his eyes. Dead silence. An eternal darkness. He was a Man without family. A Man without a face. He was a nobody.
He could not even remember his name. Why am I here? Ethan treaded slowly. He stretched his hand out, feeling the air. Something pushing him back – perhaps an invisible wall. Ethan turned around and entered a corridor. Ten, twenty, thirty paces, then a T-junction. Another corridor, another choice – left or right. Ethan turned left and entered a room. He jarred his knee into a chair. He rested his hand on a table, groping for various objects. A stuffed toy animal. A chessboard. A cup and quill pen. He ran his hand down the side of the table. A row of drawer knobs. He opened the drawers one by one. Some old books. A deck of cards. A box of matches. Aha! He put the matchbox in his trouser pocket. Then he rested on the floor and caressed his knee. Ethan stood up and extended his hand, again feeling the air. Nothing. Ethan took out a match. Two more paces. A squeaking noise from underneath. Something under his right foot. Did he just step on something? Was it alive? He retracted his foot and sat down. He opened his eyes, its my poetry .
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
No response. Where was it? Ethan gently tapped the wooden floor: tap … tap tap tap. “Please don't hurt me,” said a faint voice. “I am your friend.” He saw a faint white glow – a magical Child whose body radiated her own light. Using his match, Ethan carefully guided her onto his left hand.
“I am your friend,” repeated Ethan. (Its text from Zambrut Journal )
“Please save my children,” pleaded Lucinda. “I will,” said Ethan. Then he gently lowered the Child to the ground.
Ethan counted his matches: only five left. He lit his match and shivered as the noise pierced the darkness. He saw a briefcase lying on the floor and ran his fingers across the leather. A button and three parallel dials. A few random guesses, but no luck. He turned to a shelf and scanned the various items. The flame licked at his fingers and he had to extinguish it, nolens volens. Ethan fumbled in the dark and soon felt a strange magic guiding his hand to a particular jar. He sat down and rested it on the floor. The lid was stiff and refused to open. Then the jar tipped over and opened by itself, as if by accident. Ethan couldn’t believe what he saw next. A host of Children streamed out of the jar and ran amok cheering and laughing, radiating heat and faint beams of light in all directions. Ethan watched with amusement as one of the Children tried to push a small soccer ball and my journal published . Several other Children joined in to help. They eventually got it moving and Ethan let the ball ricochet off his leg. The Children pushed the ball back towards him. Ethan plucked the ball and passed it behind his back, intending to roll it from a different direction. Then the lights went out and the laughter immediately ceased.
The sound of footsteps. Someone is after the Children. Or someone was after him. Ethan crouched low, holding his breath. Two dark blue beams piercing the darkness from above. One of the Children was caressing his thumb. The footsteps drew closer – perhaps a tall Man walking towards him. He held the jar, ready to throw it at him if he came near. No, it was too dangerous. It was better to wait. Morton walked closer still … then silence. The beams turned slightly to the right and Ethan seized his chance. He immediately rolled the ball towards Morton. He waited for a distant sound, hoping to distract Morton but heard a different rhythm instead – a faint pulse from within.
Suddenly Morton ran away – maybe the ball distracted him after all. Morton grabbed something off the floor and dropped it into a jar. He closed the lid shut and placed the jar on a shelf with a satisfying THUD. He shone his beams on his prize and smiled. Then he walked away. Ethan went cold with horror – the Child was no longer caressing his thumb.
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