The Adventures Of John B : The Sacred Stone

Part 27 - Pictures

It happened really fast.

I told him what was outside and he left the room so fast that I can't even begin to explain.

Running through the door as it slammed against the wall, a paling figure of perturbation. I could hear his footsteps echo in the empty hallways, like a single sign of hope amidst the eerie, hopeless silence of the world.

And he was gone.

So, I followed his thundering trail- wandering aimlessly through a place that I didn't know in a clumsy body I didn't recognize.

Somehow, somewhere, I pressed a button and I waited a while. And I moved out of the building, a silent spectator.

The sky was cloudy, rain speckling the ground- turning dirt to mud as quickly as confusion turned to anger.

Many say that rain graces the earth, ridding it of filth and restoring vivacity to the world. But in it, I can only see the powerful sentiments that are brought forth. It does not rid the world of something that is always present. It only moves it, mixes it, dispenses it as far as the eye can see. What it is confused for is a very different thing than what it is. Perhaps the ignorance of the human race has confused a lot of things.

I glanced up, and there he was- the once deafening stomping halted. A boy on the ground, beaten- in spirit and in body. A sobbing figure, madly grabbing at his soaking curls and drenched garments, as if it would prevent the inevitable- as if touching him would prove that he was still there. That he was not just a broken body, the world reminding us of how helpless we really are.

A standing child, realizing his haste into adolescence as he looked down at the boy who reminded him so much of himself.

As I stood beside him, I could only focus on the patter of rain unevenly competing with the frantic rising and falling of her chest. There was too much noise, too much movement for me to comprehend.

So I didn't.

The man fell to his knees, defeat clouding his eyes as quiet tears mixed with the rain- earth and man becoming one. That face was enough to break him- bruised and cut.

Words poured out of his mouth, but there was no noise- no reason or power to hold back against the demeaning pelts that came from above, the feeling of helplessness that is slowly taking over. Only meaningless muttering- a defenseless defense against the shockingly vile cruelty of humankind.

I can only watch.

Is it not funny?

Is this the way the world mocks me- in sun and in rain- in silence and in overwhelming clamor? In life?

Why do I play this sad game of mistaken truths and truthful lies?

I don't remember feeling my knees hit the ground- I don't remember wanting to. I don't remember controlling my body as it tumbled towards the threatening misery inside, the horrid humanity that corrupts my mind. But they still do, it still does. I am still weak because of the flesh, the clothes, the faces, the meanings, the people, the society that wears me.

I can only watch.

My throat burns with the confessions of fear that frantically scramble up my throat- but I push them down, allowing that paranoia to fester- to sear and claw my insides out as I repent at my knees, heart set aflame.

I used to think that it was better to hurt on the inside than to hurt on the outside, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I just don't want to feel this type of pain again.