Again, I felt the same pulse.

It thumped me on the chest harder than ever, as if a swarm of timpanists were clashing the drums and fighting between themselves. I still ignored it until the ordinary beat became a frenetic, perpetual rhythm.

They made me feel restless and uneasy, and they engulfed me in fear. After the awful ordeal took them away, something has been lacking in me; something hollow started to bother me within my brain, diverting my attention. I haven’t made it out yet. No, not yet.

“Your sins won’t simply be vanished by sipping a cup of coffee.”

The voice was right in front of me. I looked up, raised my chin to find a man with his dark-shiny hair, sat in peace without worrying me to scream at any time―or slap his beautiful face with hot water.

“Your name?” he asked while tilting his head.

We examined each other by looking into our eyes. His were dark, very dark, as if no mercy in it.

The dim light in the corner of the room made his brown skin as black as his thick jacket. I saw Bob was too happy making a cup of coffee in the bar and no one seemed to realize his presence here.

“Your name―or I’m going to storm this place in one second,” he spoke as if he was threatening me.

I shook my head, gave him a glance of a smirk, “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Am I?” The way he looked at me was hideous. His long fingers kept tapping on the table. It only took a few seconds for me to obey. He was impatient and I was alone.

“Bila,” I muttered, “Nabila.”

There was a sense of satisfaction hidden behind the motion of his lips. The hard jaw he has got sturdy. I guessed he was relieved. I swore for my dead rabbit that I have never met him before, but he looked pleased, right after I mentioned my name.

“I’ve been looking for you, Nabila,” his fingers formed a fist, “and I have never understood how you could escape from me for such a long time.”

His head ducked, hid his face from the gray of the night. I grabbed the handle of my cup, didn’t want to let it go. Again, I noticed Bob wasn’t interested in me sitting with this stranger. An old couple at another corner wasn’t caring neither. When he raised his head, the heartbeat of mine was roaring, gave a pain of grieving. And the next scene I remember was just shimmering light all over me. I heard Bob shouting my name and when I forced my eyes to peek out of the light, he was trying to wake me up, pounding my body which laid helpless.

The anonymous was clutching my wrist, took me away from my body. I’ve never thought he allowed me to look at his face. A little disappointed that he did not give me a chance to ask just one question.

Yes, the death dealer.


In response of Daily Post’s writing prompt challenge “Greetings, Stranger“:You’re sitting at a café when a stranger approach you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

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