Running for my life

I was finally alone. After three months of barely living on top of the scaffolding, my room had become my sanctuary. I stumbled up the two flights of stairs and cracked the window to let some of the stench released from the room. As I raided my stash of wine, I noticed that I had drunk the last cup. I walked down to the kitchen and filled up my cup from the barrel. As I drank what I thought was a refill of my cup, I saw two men staring at me from the end of the hallway. I nearly lost my legs from shock. One was a priest and I knew him well. The other was a stranger. They were whispering to each other and advancing on me.

For a moment, I sat in a cold, uncomfortable seat and waited for them to speak. They began speaking loudly. “The next time we think you are going to be late, we will make sure you never show up again,” he said. I could not understand what they were saying. I just shook my head and waited for them to continue. “I’ve had enough and I will be watching you tomorrow,” he said in a threatening voice. He stood and left while the other stepped forward, probably to close the entire room down. I knew it was not going to happen, but I also knew it was because of me.

“Wait, I’m sorry. I have been working on a mural, just some decoration for the walls. You probably think I’m crazy.” He looked puzzled as he suddenly realized my accent. He must have been in my age group. Well, even crazier than I was.

“You understand me. This is the first time I’ve heard someone speak in this manner.”

“I know, I understand. I thought that you were my friend, how many of them are there?” I asked, knowing I was clutching at straws.

“I don’t know, but I didn’t recognize you right away. You were covered in dust and I could not see your eyes.” He paused and looked at me. “You are very close in the mural. You are only a couple of feet away.”

“I took some mesotheliene, the material used to make ship hulls. It contains asbestos, a dangerous new material. When I clean it up, it scares me. I’m afraid of what will happen when I sleep.”

“I am very sorry,” he said, “I probably told you the same thing, but I do not believe you. Well, I can see you have many other thoughts on what to do. I will visit you in a day or two to see how you are doing.”

“Thank you.” I never had so much trouble before. But it was not going to stop me.

As I wondered how this was going to work out, I tuned in to the conversation on the street. The men downstairs wanted an interview with me. They would probably pay for an accurate portrait of the event. As I thought about it, it was a good idea. I could hire someone to do it the proper way. This street was the center of communications for the period and had many traveling merchants, as well as many visitors who would have been there when the event occurred.

The next day, the men came back. The priest did not return. The strange man took me further in the madness and messed with my memory. He took the interview further and I was unable to come back to reality. The next day, I had the recorder and recorder.

I wondered what to do with the recorder, but to show the situation, I hired someone to deal with the wall. When the first painter got to the mural, he was pushed away and told, “We are not accepting death suits. If you want to live, get out of here.” He shook his head at the lack of organization and left. I was proud that I had good memory from all the day changes. Otherwise, I would have thrown out the mural when the first painter would have died.

The next day, the employees came in and I could not stop them. One of them came up and looked over my work.

“Excellent work, I was surprised. You should show your work more often.”

“No, I just want to be part of the project. I wrote a book that described the execution, but I wanted to document what happened.”

“Excellent, could I see it?”

“It’s not in print yet.” I explained. “I was going to write a poem and then show it to the bishop.”

“No, no one will recognize it with the Shakespeare in the picture.”

“Which is not in the picture.”

“Yes, yes, of course. And here is something for your work.” He poured some money onto the window ledge and turned. He returned with two more smackers to the money I placed there. “Will you be here this evening?”

“Yes.” I looked at the pile of money sitting there and lived on it while I thought about my next move. I could use the money to buy more supplies. I knew how to use it, but I didn’t know how to write it. So they had to do it.

“I am not sure that I will have time.” They all yelled at each other.

“It is better than nothing.”

“No, no, no, it will not be complete.”

I stared at them in silence. They could not believe I had no options for the money. As I walked away to carry the supplies down, I sighed. The end was near.

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