HE FELL FROM HEAVEN

As the light of the full moon drifted through the half open curtains of my bedroom window, the last thing on my mind were the leather straps at my wrists chaffing across my skin. My fears were for what was to become of me in the minutes that were to follow, but my dreams; they were of the strange yet terrifying hours that had preceded this moment and had landed me in this tragic position.

The day had been entirely uneventful, as was the evening that tagged along behind it. My walk from the bar where I had tried to enjoy a couple of after-work drinks with a handful of very dull work colleagues was starting to feel as though it was lasting an eternity, that is until I turned that familiar corner into the avenues which led to my home. The turning had come from nowhere in my autopilot journey from town, and as I followed the pavement to the place where I would lay my head ‘til morning I stopped: I had to. From here I could see the fence which protected my dwellings from the outside world. I could see the path which meandered through my front garden, and I could see the steps which led to my front door. But it is what was sitting on those steps which caused my pace to slow to almost a stop, but for my heart rate to increase to heart attack proportions.

What was he doing there?

And more importantly: who was he? ….