Misery Loves Company
Clear green eyes staring cynically, the old man examined himself in the mirror. He carefully lifted one hand, ran it through his short iron grey hair, all the while watching the movements of his reflection, making sure that it copied his own exactly. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d looked at one, only to find something else staring back at him.
A wry grin spread across his face and he used a soft cloth to wipe the remaining soap from behind his prominent ears before folding it and placing it down next to the matching razor, shaving brush, soap and mug.
A quick check of his pocket watch told him that he was late, so he hastily changed into his modern-day clothes and rushed through the building, grabbing his gas mask bag, flat cap, pipe and walking stick.
When he was finally ready, he stepped through and slammed the front doors behind him and pulling his flat cap firmly down to shield his eyes from the sun, he set off, his bag across one shoulder and walking stick held out like a weapon. He marched across the lawn, down a gravel path and then disappeared through a large gap in the hedge.
A peaceful silence descended, broken by the loud thunk of the front door lock and a noticeable rustle as the branches of the hedge closed over the hole, sealing it up completely.