#75 Short Story

Clouds drift across the sky.
The sun at the peak of its being.

High roofs.
Bell tower.
Wires in the air.
Festive flaglets.
Awkward poles.
Broken windows.
Old men looking down.

All littering the sky.

Below—

Grey men and women, faceless beneath the mask of the common folk, moving in routine and mechanical motions.

Clockworks of hands greater than religion: money.

Panes, stalls, shelves—filled, half-filled, half-empty.

Eyes of dead souls, all the same.

Doors half-open, open and never open—gateways for robbers, patrons, wandering souls seeking shelter, and people who wished only to fan a flame.

All these were trivial to both men—with dreams, and without.

It was afternoon in the usual lounge the two men claimed as theirs. Lunchtime had nearly ended. Morning work had passed.

The lounge, made of a street gutter, was a haven for the few—including them—hidden within a busy district of men of different races. And you and I—reader and writer—may read and write different things.

The others had already left to return to their duties. Only the two remained behind, deep in conversation.

One was drowning.

The other had long ago drowned.

“You keep preaching,” his friend began, words piercing through the air. “Yet you do not understand.”

“But I—” he stuttered.

“Lies! How could you know anything when clearly you don't!” his friend continued, lashing out.

The truth pierced him through. He truly had no inkling of what it felt like. Yet his friend deserved the truth—or so he believed.

“I…” For a moment he hesitated. “I read books. I can understand people—”

His friend's eyes widened. His gaze grew fearsome.

“Is that it? Total nonsense!”

“But I do—” he tried to argue.

“Cut the crap! This is reality we are in! Not fiction! Not the pages you turn over. Not the books you read! No! This is reality!” His friend was shouting now. “For you to base what I’ve been going through on the lies you live in—total crap—!”

His friend's voice remained sharp, but suddenly halted. He understood he did not need to go that far.

“You're right,” he sighed. “I don't.”

He smiled as his gaze fell to the ground.

“I…” his friend uttered. “I'm sorry—”

“No. It's fine. You're right. In fact, I should be the one who should apologize. Giving advice as if I had lived through such things…” He tried to look his friend in the eyes but immediately looked elsewhere. “I'm too ignorant of much of the world. You're right. I'm sorry that I had to speak about something I clearly know nothing about.”

He forced a smile.

His friend noticed.

“Cheer up. You're a good listener, friend. That's a good thing about you,” his friend said.

He smiled.

His friend smiled back.

He couldn't meet him in the eyes.

His friend failed to notice...

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