Anecdote (story)

Belief: fiction

Story

Occasionally people will make a request for me to share something interesting about myself. Invariably, in these cases, I tell them of a man who once came to my house.

I was standing outside my house when he came, a solid man who pretended to be an uncle. At first I attempted to reason with him: I do not have an uncle. He called himself “John Doe”, and insisted. I grew tired of his pestilent demeanor, and, when he tried to enter my house, I moved behind him and grabbed his hands, trying to hold him down. On the cement ground I struggled and repeatedly shouted “Police!” until a woman who drove by called the police for me.

When the police were about to come, he disappeared. I lay there holding my hands, tightly bound, as if in a prayer. I was alone on the sidewalk, though people walked by on the opposite side of the street.

It was no use—I acquiesced as the they carried me away.

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