A Short Story by Keith Nelson

“I’ve never been on this street,” Floyd thought, zipping up his Barbour jacket. The icy wind of the Edinburgh winter was something he could never quite get used to.

“I have, many times…in fact ,I created it. Take a left up here.”

Floyd watched as his boots crunched the snow beneath him.

“I get nervous sometimes… what if it gets worse? Harder than it is now? Couldn’t you just take me tonight?” Floyd paced himself up the hill.

They took the left and walked down a street by the park. The tall pine trees covered up some of the street lights, casting a dimmed aura onto the dark street below.

“I could take you tonight, but I don’t want to. You have so many amazing things I’ve created for you that I want you to experience.”

Floyd continued to walk. The snow below his feet had turned to wet sidewalk, and he could feel the sole of his boots thump thump against the stone.  

“I’m tired of these walks.”

“Why is that?”

“Because every time we have this walk, it means something has gone wrong and I need your help. I have to come to you. Doesn’t it make me weak? Wife, kids, job I love, and I still can’t do it.”

The wide street’s cobblestones glistened as the lamps shone down on it. On the left lay nice shops with warm flats above them. Snow sat piled up on the overhangs, and the shops stood tired and silent from the long day of holiday shopping.

“Well, that’s why I’m here. To be your helper. Anytime, anywhere, I will be here for you. You need to trust that I can strengthen your weakness.”

“I know that when I’m weak it creates more dependence on you. I’m just tired of being so weak all the time.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re not depending on me enough.”

A door opened from the pub ahead. An older man came backing out carrying parcels far too heavy for someone his age. Floyd jogged up to him.

“Here, let me help you.” Floyd reached out to grab a parcel, but the old man resisted, twisting away from him.

“I don’t need your help, I’m doing fine, thank you very much,” spat the old man. He hobbled off, his back arching from the strain.

Floyd stood by the door, stunned.

“That was rude,” he spoke out loud. Turning to resume his walk, he looked around and realized that he was suddenly alone.