Another World
An old man sits in his rickety rocking chair, slowly bobbing forwards and then back again, sipping his customary morning coffee. With each motion, an unmistakable squeak that would drive most people to madness would echo off the walls of his small log cabin. The old man is oblivious to the constant din caused by his movements.
The light and warmth from the hearth was beginning to wane. The old man’s supply of firewood was disappearing with each passing hour. He looked out of his singular cracked window to see snow was beginning to fall. Another cloudy, cold, and wintry day was in store for the old man.
Suddenly, he feels a rumbling. The whole cabin begins to shake. His stained coffee mug spills and falls onto the floor from its perch on an aged wooden milk crate. It does not shatter, nor chip. It is as old and hardened as the old man himself. The cabin continues to move violently, hurtling the crotchety fellow to the floor. He is uninjured, but mystified as to the current goings-on.
The snow continues to fall harder and from many angles. A blizzard must be afoot; the likely cause of the quaking of the old man’s weathered cabin. He picked himself up off the pine floor and righted his trusty rocking chair.
“BAH! That damned wind again,” the old man snarls to himself.
He pours himself another cup of jet black coffee. In all of the commotion, somehow his cast iron coffee pot managed to stay upright next to the fire. The old man loved his morning coffee. At times, it was the only thing keeping him alive. He sits back in his beloved rocking chair and goes about his morning, such as it was.
Without warning, the cabin is rocked by what seems like a massive earthquake. Everything that isn’t nailed down is flung to the floor. The old man jumps out of his rocking chair and is immediately thrown into a wall. He is bruised but unbroken. He peers out the window to try and make out what could be causing this ruckus. The snow has intensified.
As he looks further into the distance, he spies what looks like a pair of piercing blue eyes seemingly staring at him. For the first time in ages, the old man is frightened. Who, or what, could this be staring at him? He dares not leave his cabin, for fear of the unknown entity clearly fixated on his humble abode.
The shaking has finally stopped. The old man decides to clean up the mess left in the temblor’s wake. He brews another pot of coffee and settles back into his chair. How much longer will these blizzards and quakes last? What of the eyes staring back at the old man?
“Must be all of the snow and wind playing tricks on me again,” the old man concedes.
As the old man goes about his business, a young boy screams to his mother, “Mom! Quick, come here and look at my snow globe! I think there is a little man living in the cabin inside!”
“Sure, sweetie, whatever you say,” mom scoffs.
The blue-eyed boy glares into the snow globe again, shaking it vigorously to see if the man will reappear.
