Guest

Knock … Knock  … Knock …

"Who?"

I stopped my work, and looked toward the door. But after a few minutes I waited until the door is not a knock sounded again. Maybe just a prankster, I thought. I went back to continue the work which was delayed. But just as I touched my pen on paper, there was a knock back door again.

"Anyone out there?" I asked in a louder voice.

But after waiting, the same events happen again. The voice was not audible knock on the door again, and there was no answer anything.

The incident was repeated four times.

"Who are you?" Cadence rapid heartbeat began to race.

Every time there was a knock, I ask. But knock it stopped again, even I did not hear anything.

Could he be mute, I thought. But once my mind the other denies; not possible. During this time, I did not have dumb friends. Incident like this has ever happened in my life, I have seldom had a guest-room mean a knock on the door like this. My friends came looking for me directly if wandering into the house, without knocking. Or else they will be shouted from outside calling my name.

Clearly this guest would rob me, I thought. But once my mind the other denies; where one wants to rob me. My house is just very ugly, in fact it is more appropriately called the shack, but was rickety and rotten wood, even worse, this hut is inclined, almost collapsed. So no need to be a robber, a child knows that if I did not have anything. I mean valuable items that can be sold.

I looked around me. To be honest I was looking for wood, or anything that I could use as an emergency weapon. But as I said in my house no nothing. There is only my work papers, and some pen ink marks that have been depleted. Understandably I was just a poor writer.

Maybe I can use this paper, I thought. As my eyes focused on my work papers are arranged in a box. I could throw it, I thought. I'm sure he'll pass out these cardboard hit.

But when I tried to lift boxes of paper stack my work, it was not the main weight. Understandably it is a paper that I wrote my work since I was a kid, so naturally when it's stacked. Even the paper on the cardboard had been reduced a lot, my mother had sold it, I mean instead of being sold to a publisher, but is sold as waste paper to recycled paper mills. Of course my mother did it without my knowledge, because if I knew, I'd be furious. My mother said later, when we were eating dinner. Then could I ask for money from the sale of my work is paper. My mother only answered by pointing his finger at dinner. That was the fate of my work; be our dinner, and tomorrow some shit in a pit latrine to be.

But now I live alone, spending most of my time with writing. I do not aspire to be a writer, let alone be a famous writer. I'm not a writer who is trying hard to record his name in this world. In essence I became a writer, because I wanted to write, just that.

Knock … Knock … Knock …

"Actually, who are you?" I turned up my voice. "What's your point here!"

Boxes of paper I put down my work anymore, so my breath panting. I could not lift it any longer. I took the pen marks, and grasp firmly. If guests came in, I will immediately ran down and stick the pen right into his eyes. If you do not hit her, possibly in other parts of his body, as it may, the important pen must be embedded. Understandably I have never fought.

Silence. No more door knocking sound, or any answers. Precisely what I've heard his own breath, I was like I just ran the ball seven times around the field. Heartbeat rhythm of the race too fast. Wait, wait, and wait … until half an hour, but no sound I hear the door knock, or any answers.

Did not I do not have enemies, I thought. Why should I be prejudiced. Even if it's mean-spirited guests, what they will get from me, I do not have anything. "It's stupid!" I swore to myself. But my voice is very soft, almost like a whisper.

Now I'm self-conscious, tolerant, ready for whatever will happen to me. I threw my pen, I draw a deeper breath, and I exhale slowly. Then I walked to the door. "Sorry, you are out," I said quietly. "Actually, who are you? What needs to come to my house? "I paused. But still no sound I hear nothing. "Come replied," I said much harder. "Who are you? What kind you that? Humans? Plants? Animals? Satan? Or … God?"

My heart is beating fast, fast growing. My breath is ragged, had stopped for a moment. I reached for the door and opened it. It appeared in front of my house is not there the who, what, or I do not know. As far as the eye could see that I saw was a dark, dark, and dark.

I leave my door open. I sat looking outward, with a pile of questions that are jumping around in my mind. What is the purpose of the visitor looking for nights like this? Actually, it's who my guests? And many more other questions.

I'm sorry too long to think, and slow moving. I should have immediately opened the door of my house, and guests know who's looking for it. But now it's too late. Should have nothing to fear. I have always supposed to be charitable themselves against any that would to me, anytime and anywhere. Is not life full of surprises? So maybe, if the guests who came before the Lord, who will take me to heaven.

I can only hope that the guest will return.

*****