Tweeprose: ‘The Man Who Said I Don’t Know’ by A. N. Gretly (for @Sab3awyJr)

Ian D. Kenneth wandered wearily past the main gate of Elthorn Park near the Boston Manor Hotel. Sweat beads trickled down his back even though the night was overcast and black with a gentle brisk wind huffing about, making the trees all around him rustle in their own native tongue. Ian took out a flask from the breast pocket of his grey suit, and gulped a few sips of bourbon, feeling that liquid running down his throat, and settling with a silent boom in his empty stomach like a piece of hot coal. He walked to the gazebo in the middle of the park, and stood underneath its roof.

“What do I do now?” He asked himself in a crackling voice.

He took a long gulp from the flask as he undid his tie. The world began to heave around him like a fishing boat at the heart of a mighty hurricane, and he was suddenly aware of the weight of his head. Memories flashed before his mind’s eye like reels of an old and forgotten film. The company, the success, and all the money, everything kept coming back to him, mocking his analytical mind that was on the verge of losing itself. He lost it all in one day, due to one simple act, one simple mistake.

Ian D. Kenneth began to sob as he walked outside of the gazebo towards nowhere in particular; he tried to take another sip and found nothing but fumes.

“Fuck!” He yelled, throwing the flask at an invisible enemy.

He lost his balance, and fell into the grass. In his mind of minds, he lingered amidst dreary thoughts, aimlessly descending into the abyss like a feather falling from the night sky. Images of his past projected themselves here and there like constant reminders of his utter folly.

“Who are you?” A voice whispered in his ear “Who are you without the money? Who are you without the success? Who are you without the things you owned? Who are you without the house? Who are you without the cars, and the women? Who are you? Who are you?”

Ian D. Kenneth thought of the things he lost, he thought of the violet princess he just bought, he thought of the brick walls of his mansion crumbling down, he thought, and thought, and thought.

“Who am I?” He finally asked “I don’t know…”

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About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Prose, Tweeprose and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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