And he sat there, preoccupied with damage control. A date with Fate was unlikely, thanks to Dmitri.
"You are close?"
Sylvester turned around to see who'd said that. He'd been too distracted by the tense atmosphere in his head to be even minutely aware of his surroundings. The man seemed innocent, mild mannered and... well he was a stranger and it's okay to tell strangers anything and everything because you may never meet them again.
There is annual gathering in town in which people conceal themselves under white sheets with two holes for the eyes, much like ghosts in pop-culture. They gather around the oldest tree in the oldest park and read out their most intimate secrets in a slow droning voice. Each year their numbers increase, the secrets increase the secrets become less and less articulate among the horde of voices. Secrets mingle and intertwine into one loud, undecipherable mumble. They all know that if they cannot keep their secret to themselves, that if they have to say it out loud, they wait for that day. For they know that on that day anything that will be said aloud will be lost in the wind.
Some people like to listen. They stand around trying to listen to the secrets of one white sheet or another. They keep moving on until they find an interesting story, or one that has just begun. It is their way of keeping secrets for people they do not know. An hour before midnight on the ides of October the people of the town know where to go if their thoughts are stifling them. In the whole year there is one hour of honesty and trust. People come and they confess, profess, listen and understand. They empty their hearts and begin filling them up again until the next year.
To their more difficult patients, Psychiatrists recommended the ritual.
Sylvester was one of the whispering ghosts. Years and years of standing in front of the old tree and revealing his most inner-self had emboldened him, and he began to trust strangers. He began to trust strangers more than his friends. It was not because he did not trust his friends. It was because he knew that his fears could never be used against him if they were not known to be his.
And so, there he was without his white sheets with holes and he was talking to a stranger.
"You are close?", he had asked. Almost in a way that depicted doubt.
"No, we just met a couple of minutes ago. I don't even know her last name" said Sylvester in a dejected voice. He was looking at his shoes now.
"Oh but I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about him."
"Oh! Yes, I would say so." As he said that he looked up in the direction of Dmitri and Fate. But they were not there anymore. He then turned to look at the man next to him. He was not there anymore either.
Sylvester felt uneasy. Not because it had not worked out with Fate. Not because Dmitri had ridiculed him in front of Fate. Not because the strange stranger had doubted the friendship between Dmitri and him. But because, for the first time, Dmitri had parted ways and not him.
Dmitri was too bitter a man to feign pleasantness with Fate. Sylvester's mind was going where he did not want it to go. But there was nothing he could do to stop it and October was three months away.
"You are close?"
Sylvester turned around to see who'd said that. He'd been too distracted by the tense atmosphere in his head to be even minutely aware of his surroundings. The man seemed innocent, mild mannered and... well he was a stranger and it's okay to tell strangers anything and everything because you may never meet them again.
There is annual gathering in town in which people conceal themselves under white sheets with two holes for the eyes, much like ghosts in pop-culture. They gather around the oldest tree in the oldest park and read out their most intimate secrets in a slow droning voice. Each year their numbers increase, the secrets increase the secrets become less and less articulate among the horde of voices. Secrets mingle and intertwine into one loud, undecipherable mumble. They all know that if they cannot keep their secret to themselves, that if they have to say it out loud, they wait for that day. For they know that on that day anything that will be said aloud will be lost in the wind.
Some people like to listen. They stand around trying to listen to the secrets of one white sheet or another. They keep moving on until they find an interesting story, or one that has just begun. It is their way of keeping secrets for people they do not know. An hour before midnight on the ides of October the people of the town know where to go if their thoughts are stifling them. In the whole year there is one hour of honesty and trust. People come and they confess, profess, listen and understand. They empty their hearts and begin filling them up again until the next year.
To their more difficult patients, Psychiatrists recommended the ritual.
Sylvester was one of the whispering ghosts. Years and years of standing in front of the old tree and revealing his most inner-self had emboldened him, and he began to trust strangers. He began to trust strangers more than his friends. It was not because he did not trust his friends. It was because he knew that his fears could never be used against him if they were not known to be his.
And so, there he was without his white sheets with holes and he was talking to a stranger.
"You are close?", he had asked. Almost in a way that depicted doubt.
"No, we just met a couple of minutes ago. I don't even know her last name" said Sylvester in a dejected voice. He was looking at his shoes now.
"Oh but I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about him."
"Oh! Yes, I would say so." As he said that he looked up in the direction of Dmitri and Fate. But they were not there anymore. He then turned to look at the man next to him. He was not there anymore either.
Sylvester felt uneasy. Not because it had not worked out with Fate. Not because Dmitri had ridiculed him in front of Fate. Not because the strange stranger had doubted the friendship between Dmitri and him. But because, for the first time, Dmitri had parted ways and not him.
Dmitri was too bitter a man to feign pleasantness with Fate. Sylvester's mind was going where he did not want it to go. But there was nothing he could do to stop it and October was three months away.
2 comments:
Simply put i surfed by way of your website as i designed to end up keen on just one elements as well as the detail. Gathered solid creative practices appropriate that follows! Let’s hope you do not pointers generally if i refer to your during my own blogging and site-building location web content inside the long haul
This blog is terrific. There is often all the ideal data at the suggestions of my fingers. Thanks and maintain up the beneficial work!
Post a Comment