Brennan

He woke up with panic crawling into his ears and gunshots blasting nearby. It was time to flee and he needed to do this rapidly! His trembling hands pushed away the rags that had kept him warm and, relying on his sense of touch, he reached for his walking stick. He called for Iris but she was out there, in the midst of the battlefield, barking and ready to fight. He needed to find his way out alone and the darkness, that spurred his imagination for years, was onconce more filled with terror and intense, growing fear. He heard words of anger, desperation and pain among the flying gunshots that were moving closer and closer.

It was late...too late to leave the one-way alley he called home. Feeling around the familiar space, he buried his old body under recycled cardboard and tried to slow down his accelerated breath. In their dispute – he thought – they would shoot even the homeless, blind man earning his living by making up stories of flickering shadows.

He took a deep breath and thought of the pale autumn sun, which reminded him of his mother’s hand. He used to love hearing her talk about dizzy leaves, losing their colours only to dance with the adventurous winds. Touching their edges, he understood shape, texture and discovered a fragility he had not been aware of. They were beautiful and autumn had been an eye opener, a season preserving his dearest memory of the past. And while his ears were still receptive to incriminating words now in the distance, he realized that autumn had become much more.

All he needed to do now was to find his way to the nearest police station..