An Alley

Heringbold Crumb, in wanting to walk from Hungerfield Close to Pear Tree Close, was faced with two options: either he follow the course of the road which ran like a horseshoe, skirting the outside of a small forest standing between the two closes, or he take the small alleyway running directly through the forest itself. It was a question that had weighed on his mind many times over the last twenty eight years. As a boy he had chosen the alley without question, running nimbly and thinking little of it. But now he wasn't quite so sure. It was the darkness more than anything that made him falter. The street was well lighted with neat streetlamps throwing pools of amber onto the pavement at precise and regular intervals. The alley was small, enclosed and dark. Crumb knew that once he entered the alley he would be forced to give himself over to the darkness, that he would be certain of the direction in which he must move, but would remain oblivious to his surroundings. What frightened him most was the thought of some other body rushing up against him in the eternal night of the alleyway. What a strange thing light is, he thought. Surely all beauty is light and nothing more than light alone, all happiness, all freedom from anxiety is light, nothing but light. And then he drew level with the alley and gazed into its dark mouth. The line of street lamps stood to his right, evenly paced and whispering for him to join their path outside the forest. What if I should crash against someone coming in the opposite direction, he thought again. What if that person should be carrying a knife? But then he sensed his body starting to move, and realised with these last words drifting through his mind, that he had already plunged headlong into the darkness, and that the streetlamps were far behind him and then he felt a rush of euphoria.