The Outsider

by Albert Camus

The burning sun struck my cheeks and I could feel drops of sweat gathering above my eyebrows. It was the same sun as the day I’d buried Mama, and like then it was my forehead that hurt the most and I could feel every vein throbbing beneath my skin. I was being burned alive; I couldn’t stand it any more so I took a step forward. I knew it was stupid; I knew I couldn’t shake off the sun simply by taking one step. But I took that step, one single step forward. And this time, without getting up, the Arab pulled out his knife and raised it towards me in the sun. The light flashed off the steel and it was as if a long gleaming blade was thrust deep into my forehead. At that very moment, the sweat that had gathered on my eyebrows suddenly rushed down into my eyes, blinding me with a warm, heavy veil of salt and tears. All I could feel was the sun crashing like cymbals against my forehead, and the knife, a burning sword hovering above me. Its red-hot blade tore through my eyelashes to pierce my aching eyes. It was then that everything started to sway. The sea heaved a heavy, scorching sigh. The sky seemed to split apart from end to end to pour its fire down upon me. My whole body tensed as I gripped the gun more tightly. It set off the trigger. I could feel the smooth barrel in my hand and it was then, with that sharp, deafening sound, that it all began. I shook off the sweat and the sun. I realized that I had destroyed the natural balance of the day, the exceptional silence of a ...