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The Dark Room

The Dark Room

Mukhtar Guled


The air rippled. The dark forces beckoned to me. As if calling to me. Suddenly, a wave washed over me. I made a claw gesture over my heart and without warning it jolted forwards. It was like a warding of evil, sign. Then the forces of evil retreated into the jar. My heart beat fluctuated.

The air rippled. The jar was lying there waiting there for me. I had to open it. It was drawing me in. I was like a moth attracted to a succulent fire. My heart beat fluctuated.

I reached out for it. I grabbed it with a sweaty palm – even though my grip wasn’t slacking – and smashed the reinforced coating of the jar from a respectable height of 7 storeys. I heard a sigh of relief as I sank into my favourite armchair as low as my lanky frame permitted. After all, heroes do need a rest. A knock on the bedraggled, flat door brought me to my senses. My heart beat fluctuated.



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