My Storyteller

The story just ended when my phone rang.It was hilarious yet mysterious and strikingly familiar. It's the storyteller.....

Old tattered and unkempt, his stories could never be matched. Detailed, linked to each other and short yet, minding blowing. He told stories for money I think at least I pay him after such a "Story Ride". But I was the only listener. In fact I usually go to the Ghost Bar every Saturday to listen to him.

Although he had a VERY strange appearance, I couldn't resist his stories. He was tall and bent like a hook, his beard and all the hairs on face were extremely long and knotted behind his neck, yet he was bald. His eyes, ooh his eyes, those were what added mystery to his stories, they were dark green with a shot of red in the middle. With only two fingers on each hand, he tapped the table to sound effect to his stories, whenever I asked what happened to his hands, he tells me it was during a war for a life, but he never says more. And I ofcourse anxious for the next story, never persisted. His dress didn't help matters. He dressed like in the bible days, only that, his robe was shredded to his knees, revealing the scars on his legs. But who cared his stories were addictive.

Saturday, lovely Saturday came with the sun hidden behind the clouds, just the way I like. I hurried to work, returned in the afternoon, rested. In the evening, as usual I headed to Ghost Bar, I didn't Know what awaited me. I entered the bar and look straight at my usual spot, the table in dark corner, and there was the storyteller waiting. I moved nearer, his eyes were strikingly different, this time dark red with a shot of green in the middle. Who cares the story is more important.....

He began, but this time he told my dream back to me, and the man in the story had the same reactions I had to the scotching sun...

On a very scotching sunny afternoon, I wondered what a cold glass of lemonade would feel like as I had been standing waiting for a signal from my partner, if to place the block or not. The thought somehow eased the thirst as sun shone its best at my very expense. Buildings are my life, but the sun; my death. As for the building part, I am a Constuction Engineer, the best untill now. I get jobs from big companies, swim in money and luxury, but one thing was missing...........

At last home again, nothing could be better, a long shower and a cold glass of wine would be the best place to start. Just then, the light siezed and an incredible blast came from my neighbour's appartment. One Iwon't exactly call my neighbour, cause I had never seen him in all the 20 years I have lived in this house, my birth house. 'This "Mr neighbour" is the last straw' I thoght to myself. I dashed out like a bear robbed of her cubs and forced my way into his or her house. And that was the begining of the end.....................

"Hello, anybody home, anybody need help??" I chanted as I made my way to the empty room. Strange this looked exactly like the room I always see in my dreams. The drapes, the bed and the picture of an old tattered man with hairy spikes all over his face. Then a voice welcomed me, the storyteller's voice, my sight blurred......

Awake now, yes but to the scotching sun, what!!!! In a house!!! With the storyteller standing right before me. Worst of all, the hairy spikes filled my whole body and my head went bald just like the storyteller. Who the hell am I, HELP!!!!!