Creepypastas

Can't Help Fate

He lifted the half bald head from the floor, looking at the way his new doctor managed to craft an expression of interest, he continued.

"I did. But they were all false, nowhere near reality."

In a vague attempt to comfort the soul of the man, getting devoured by guilt and agony piece by piece, the calm tone of the doctor once again offered a fraction of reason.

"Reality is what your senses transform into thoughts..."

Before he could finish, a voice full of rage cut his sentence into half

"That's what has been pummeled into our minds ever since childhood, but in some places of this Earth things are different!"

Noting the radical change in his patient, the doctor found a way to bring down the tension of the conversation.

"Alright, tell me more about these places"

Pulling his knees toward his rigid torso, the man continued his story, staggering and struggling to remember.

"Place, it was one small village, somewhere in Eastern Europe. I think in the south ... I'm not sure, it's been over 30 years, I ... think. I was there looking for something, anything that may help me write a great story. But, as usual, I hit a brick wall of silence. The locals got mad at me for my constant probing, and threw me out of their village. I remember rain, heavy rain begun pouring from the sky. Summer rain I guess, because hail followed shortly. Three times in a row, I was banned from a village, but never during a storm.

With just one bag, and the shirt on my shoulders, I somehow escaped the angry mob. It thinned rather quickly; I guess they could tell a storm was on its way. But for me, the safest place to be was on the road, to the next village, approximately 3 miles away. It was the first time in my life, that I ever saw a curtain of rain, so dense, so persistent; I couldn't hold my head up for more than a few seconds. In the midst of my struggles with the flood surging from the sky, I passed a small house not far from the road.

It felt like a blessing, but I dared not come near it. It was only when a young woman came out and summoned me to enter, did relief finally reside in my heart. Soaking wet and beaten up, I found a shelter from the rain. I entered the tiny house, well it felt more like a cottage, but it had a warm, welcoming feeling to it."

With his eyes shut, he inhaled deeply, as if he could smell the fragrances from that night, the cottage, the beautiful young woman, the meal she had been preparing for the night. Noticing how memories overwhelmed his patient, the doctor broke his silence.

"Go on ..."

A bit staggered, Smith shook his head, as if coming out of a trance of past events. He continued the story, with a note of melancholy in the rigid voice.

"She was beautiful. A young creature, in her twenties I guessed. She was out to get me for no more than a minute, but the rain didn't spare her either. Her knee long summer dress was so wet, to the point where I wished it were white, instead of the dark blue that ruined my ... perspective.

She squeezed the water from the long, dark hair before entering inside. I remember her smile, even now. The pearly white teeth, and those sincere dark eyes, brought me peace. She spoke with the same dialect the nearing villages used to, so it wasn't hard for me to understand her. I've been researching for months, so talking to people was easy.

But what got harder was getting answers, so this time, I thought to myself: I won't ask anything. I let her thoughts float into words, as she began asking questions for my wandering in the rain, my name, my profession ... I answered every question with a smile on my face, her charm made a fool out of me. I blabbed everything! My fatigue, combined with the gazelle looking at me curiously, let out every drop of truth out in the open.