The Dead mans Tale (Still Editing)

A silent cry

Through out the years, people have been enjoying their lives, families gathered together on Easter days and feasted on Christmas day.

Except me.

Its late. Its past the bedtime hour. And before they sleep, another song will be sung, and a story will be told. They live it. As a deer running for water, their souls cherished it.

Even though sleep is determined to bring the day to close, and joy is determined to stretch the day out as long as possible, ours were as cold as ice.

They sleep to rest their joyous souls. Eight hours in comfort zones, except me. Long nights, an empty ground and sleepless nights. Then weariness finds me, to heavy for my biceps, endless horizons of sorrow and pain
They all found rest, except me

How many people will die in the pain in which they are living? The homeless, the fatherless and the motherless. How will they find hope that "someday" the world will hear their cries?

I caught my self wondering aloud, "will I die as I live alone?"
The hopeless' joy is engraved with an iron tool, inscribed with a flint point and their strength has be drained to their feet.

When you tell people all this things when you can no longer bear them, they say, " Through your own fault you will remain like that"

And then I saw a rejected child and wondered about his life so far, as mine laid waste trampled on the ground like a rose.

I wondered if he deserved the pain. I wanted to find out if he was bitter, if he was the reason of his futile life. I found no fault in him because he took it all. He took the blame he never caused.

"Shhhh. There he is, " His neighbors whispered.
"Have you heard? They say, "he is inconsiderate, self-destructing and troublesome"

"He never wants to listen to his parents instructions"

He was seated on the ground as I leaned on him: legs outstretched, hands folded, back resting against the tree. His eyes were closed, expecting silence because the night will be long. Few hours passed. He was obviously too tired and hungry, and every one with eyes locked on him never hesitated to give him even a drop of water to drink.

"I pitied him though, sensing his discomfort."

His heart began to pound faster as he gives a tired sigh. He was not that much interested in water but concerned about me. Than I realized there was no fault in him because of the pain that he is going through.

The rest never cared, they continued to live their lives as though nothing happened.

And than I asked myself, "Is humanity running to their creator or to the devil. Do they have any sense of their existence, if they truly know the devil really exist, or are they just ignorant in their style of living?.

I knew no gratification. I knew not love. As I sat in the silence, I realized that he desired love. The sound of his mother telling him, "Junior, wake up. Its time to go to school."

I sat there, at the edge of the tree trunk wondering, " What is he thinking" But I knew better. I knew it was hurting. And I knew we will be fine. That things will get better the more we carry on. The angels, though positioned will watch over us.

Before the day was over, we sat in silence the second time and then my brother said, " Why should we doubt to love, even when we don't receive the little back in return, and though God's people forget their own kind, that we forget the ones we love the most!"

" You know our life is hell. A life of being trapped inside our own minds. An experience of the frequency and the radiance of pain, sorrow and an adventure in the corridors of hell"

To be honest I stood still, and when tears began to drop from my cheeks, he raised his hands and responded to my cry, in his sorrowful tender voice, "don't cry, I'm always there for you"

"Shooo" I cried out, "The one that comforts me is the one that desires to be comforted"

"Who knows it all?" "Who cares about us?" "Who knows the purpose of it all?"

Instead of standing tall, we fell. Our anchors drag through sand, finding no rocks.

" We can't hide it any more!"
The worst thing is, no body knew except us. No body understood us. Apart from that...no body believed us or listens to what ever we say.

Most of them think we are mad. They think we are lost in another world. They always considered us simple and not living the reality. They simply don't understand what caught us.

They are ignorant, they live by facts and not by sight. They think they understand the reality, but to be honest, they don't know what the future holds than what is behind us.
"Wake up and smell the coffee" they will always say. "Get yourself together, you are missing out"

I could hear them, but I could not speak. Prisoners were never allowed to speak. And if I could, who could have listened to me. I have no shelter, caring parents and beside that, I had no future. Sightless without power.

I don't want to die surrounded by the most callused people in the entire universe that are forever seeing but never understanding. Nobody wants to listen to us. They all think we are crazy.

" What kind of people are this? Heart made of stone? Held together not by love and compassion, but by concrete.

Notes from the author
Hi guys. Had an emotional time writing this part...hope you enjoyed and please don't forget to like vote and comment. Will encourage me to search the depths of my memories. And please leave a suggestion on they way I write, it will improve my skill of writing. Thanks for your support.