Clamor

Lies

Mirage walked back in his house frowning. He headed to his room, shut the door and lay on the bed, eyes closed. Thoughts rushed in his head. His body had become tired. He couldn't stop thinking about his grandfather, especially the happy moments and instances. Then his dead face would leave him shook. Mirage's hands felt numb. His eyes, though closed, felt weary. Clamor was right, Mirage thought.

He was half asleep, the rushing of thoughts almost coming to a halt. His body jerked a little. A moment later, he rose from his bed gasping. Clamor wasn't right, he murmured. He talked about his grieving losses quite normally. There wasn't a bit of regret in his voice. He was lying. He wasn't empathizing for me. There's something really wrong.

Mirage made up his mind. He changed into a white t-shirt and dark jeans, put on his shoes and headed for the door. He slammed the door in anger and made it to the street in haste. He walked speedily towards the street, took to the lane on the left and stared at the ruined house with shabby windows and old doors. Mirage lowered his pace and hid in the large shadows of well-to-do houses. He was cautious. He took small steps until he was comfortable. He further embedded himself in the darkness of the house opposite to the ruin. Mirage saw the dim light wailing out the windows. It was difficult to make out anything but he didn't give up. He wanted to know.

Few minutes passed but there was no movement. Mirage stepped ahead, half in shadow. All of a sudden, he saw a figure approaching the window. Mirage hid further, keeping his eye in the light.