He didn't know where he was headed, how far his feet had brought him or what lay further. A blanket of darkness loomed in the distance while his footsteps echoed within the confines of the pathway he was a slave to.
Tariq Jamal was not a man of fright. In fact, before this night he had never contemplated the possibility of anything among the shadows.
A tall man in his middle age, life had taught him to see things direct, simple and an unmitigated explanation for it all.
He never considered anything as extraordinary nor did he expect on the possibility of it being otherwise; the world was set in separate halves, in daylight and moonlight. Yet, this pathway was blessed with neither.
A skeptical man would brand this passage as unholy. Skeptics, or cowards as some might call them, hold little respect among the masses.
Yet, on occasion, cowards might be the wisest of them all. Tariq thought none of this. He was, until that moment, still a man of simple thoughts.
Blackness - all there was ahead. As if walking blindly or with eyes wide shut. He relied on his footsteps, trusting the pathway to lead him towards the light, whenever it may arrive.
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The air felt like ice, so cold that even in the darkest of situations such as this, the unmistakable blow of smoke resonated from between his lips. Somehow visible, something a common man, perhaps a skeptic, would brand as atypical.
Yet, Tariq was still a simple man. His eyes searched the open air, among the mist of his own breaths, for some sign of sanctuary. The simplicity that his world revolved around would characteristically, according to him, provide a refuge for the night.
But nothing appeared, in the literal sense. Pitch black. The arrival of an alien sound reached his ears, the rattle of gravel crushing under the pressure of firmly laid feet.
The passage had changed, no more was the perfectly carved road below him. This was the start of unpromising grounds. A coward would have been wise to turn back but Tariq was a simple man.
He stopped for the first time that night; the consistent, almost religiously followed route had struck him unsatisfied. He did not know where he was headed. There was nothing visible in front or behind. The logical thing to do was proceed ahead.
He did not know then, that logic was not the idea to be respected in that godforsaken path. Wariness, caution and suspicion should have been his friends.
Unfortunately for Tariq, they had been locked deep inside for years now. Perhaps a rude awakening is what most men need.
Soon enough, he had become accustomed to the melody; the cracking of pebbles underneath, the whisks of his breath, the still of the night, a piece of music to keep him company. But not for long.
