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As I was walking in my house, I saw a man who was not there, he was not there again and now I hope for the man to go. #MicroPanic #HorrorStory

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The Man Who Was Not There

It was night when I saw him, the man who was not there, with the pallor of all men, deep eyes and black suit as the darkness of death. Yesterday, while I was going up the stairs, there was the man again. As I walk down the stairs tonight, I pray and beg it not to see him again, I ask and pray that he will go away. Everyone at home asks me why I see him, I do not know. The man is not there and I see him as clear as the walls and ceiling that are around me. I can listen to him, I can see him, I can feel him, and I know he is not there, he was not and he will never be, even though he is as real to me as you are.
Tonight he spoke, said words that flew aimlessly to the wind and reached my ears. Where do all the people go after they leave? Are they still here? Some leave and others stay? How much of an illusion is the truth? Who could see something that is not there? Religion or madness? I cannot stop, I cannot think, because today, he was not there again.
_ One ... Two ... Three ... _ I count again and again.
                    I longer for a breath of hope. Tonight the man has a more visible silhouette, an air that tells me that he came for me, he is not there with me, and he is there for me. As I climb the stairs, I close my eyes aware that he looks at me, his eyes black and thirsting for recognition. I need to get away, I need to be here, but I am afraid I am not here anymore. If he is not here, am I not? I am not either.
_ One ... Two ... Three ... _ one more time.
Now his hands stop my steps, he is so close that the hairs on my forearms shiver, and I know I can be touched. My lips lose color by the pressure of each other, I am so afraid that there is no blood on my face, and the knots on my fingers are white. He could not be there he was not there. Yet, I feel myself dying in myself, where I could go? I did not want to go. The minutes pass, and the man now opens his mouth, the breath of his breathing caressing the tip of my nose.
_ One ... Two ... three ... _ the heart did not want to calm down. Where would I go? As if listening to my thoughts, he said, this time the man said:
_ I know the pain and I know the pain of meeting me.
Moreover, his words are like bells in my soul, I would follow him, follow where he would not exist, like a sloop ready to leave, knowing the turn to throw me.
6 Novembre 2018 15:50:32 0 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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A propos de l’auteur

Nanda Lima Psicóloga, analista do comportamento. Trabalha como Secretária Executiva em um Instituto de Ensino e Pesquisa, e é free lancer de tradução nas línguas inglesa e espanhola. Música, arte, literatura e cinema são as quatro maiores paixões. Atualmente é estudante de Relações Internacionais.

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