A Chance Meeting

by Eric Lawson

It was another bitter evening outside, but Georgi had no other means of escape from the suffocation that came along with the comforts of the indoors. He stood on his porch, watching his exhalations float gently away, and then, as if out of his control, his feet began to move, a walk was upon him.

Georgi seemed awestruck at his surroundings, but for little reason other than the asthetics of the snow-piled limbs in the frosty air above, and the bermes to either side made by the avenue's walk shoveler as he made his rounds in the early hours after evening snowfall.

He plodded along, following the instinctual path burned into his mind after years of nighttime jaunts through the neighborhood. The same houses passed the corners of his eyes as he kept them down, half-looking at the ground before him.

A sudden halt caused by an unfamiliar sight jerked Georgi's shoulders forward and caused his arms to sway back and forth for a few pendulous moments. What had ceased his aimless journey was the appearance of another trekker, a solitary snail.

Georgi squatted down, getting as close as he could to his newest of acquaintances. "Hello there little one," he said softly, "now what would you doing out on a night such as this?"

His question went unanswered.

Examining the gastropod creeping slowly in the chill put pity in Georgi's heart. The poor creature would soon perish on a night as cold as this. Either that, or he would die painfully at the hands of the walk shoveler and his salt. Murder, or rather mercy killing, crept in place of the pity inside Georgi.

Standing up, Georgi made his decision - he would put an end to this once and for all. Grave words slipped his lips, "I am sorry, friend, that it had to come to this." As he lifted his heavy foot, the snail made no pleas, did not beg. The worn sole, a nearly treadless piece of rubber, came down hard and fast. Georgi did not enjoy at all the crunching he heard under his foot, the grinding sensation as his shoe slid a bit.

After this, Georgi made fast for home. He never did see his front door. As he turned and walked the other direction, he only made it a few steps before two strangers appeared from behind a snow-bank-entrenched hedge. He did not recognize their pity-filled faces or understand their words, for his heart seemed to have taken residence in his ears. His world was flooded with thumps, internal and external. During his last seconds of conciousness, he looked across the pavement he laid upon at the crushed body and home of his comrade in death, its moistness quickly freezing.

The next morning the constable arrived after being summoned at the request of the street's walk-keeper. His face showed no pity, only a harsh stare at Georgi's corpse. "What was thinking, walking on a night like last? What could he have been doing?"

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