the accused

by anonymous

ah, most miserable of creatures, why must i confront you every day in the mirror? in the reflections of windows as i pass through the cold and windy streets of the bleak and evil city? my condition is an unfortunate one, though not, perhaps, one to inspire much pity, or even comprehension, among my fellows. for i am haunted - yes, haunted - not by a ghost, and not by guilt for anything i have done or not done. nor am i pursued, or feel myself to be pursued, as so many do, by a double - someone who will commit some horrid crime, or espouse some atrocious cause, for which i will then be blamed. nor have i been accused of any specific crime, which i could then deny and attempt to bring proof out innocence or hunted by a specific accuser - an accuser with a face or name, that i could confront. no , i am haunted by the certainty that somehow, some way, i will be accused - of some as yet undreamed of deed, unspeakably monstrous, by a hidden and nameless accuser, who might accost me at any time, as i turn a corner, as i enter a cafe, who might emerge from under the staircase as i repair at night to my miserable fourth floor lodgings… and cry - you! you! you are the one! and i will be dumb… and i will have no defense… oh accuser, come forth! spare me this endless torment, such as no one has ever suffered before! reader, as you walk the street, as you gaze from your window, perhaps even as you enjoy the warmth go a cozy hearth, or the happy voices of some boon companions, have you ever felt this same fear, even for a fleeting moment? or is this torment reserved for myself alone? alone among all? alone!