I step back, startled and point
my finger at him as though this simple act will protect me from harm. Usually
sight of Benjamin wouldn’t scare me. I have memories of a hundred games of
chess in Central Park. Here, in this unknown place, I know that the man isn’t
Benjamin, so his resemblance sets an unease within me.
‘I’m here to help,’ he says.
The voice sounds so much like
him I’m almost fooled into believing it.
I take a step towards the bus
stop. In three more I’m by its side. I reach out and touch the pole showing bus
times. It’s gritty to touch, like its stood here forever.
‘This can’t be real,’ I say. ‘None
of it.’
‘This place is as real as you
want it to be,’ Benjamin replies. ‘The same as the afterlife at any stage.’
‘What are you saying? That the
whole of last year was in my head?’
‘Sit down with me, Easton.’ He
pats the bench beside him.
‘What and the bus shelter
collapses and I die? Or you pull a knife out of your cane and you stab me in
the chest? I’ve not been here long but I get the gist. Things appear, I die. I’d
rather stand here and be careful.’
‘What is dying?’ Benjamin muses.
He digs into the sand with his cane, drawing a circle through the grains.
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