Under a fake tree, from what they eyes could see, there were two madmen talking to each other. They were in a theatre. A large group of audience was seated in front of them watching them intently, expecting to be entertained like when visiting a zoo. Both characters were dressed in the same torn, worn out clothes.
The casts were an old man and a boy; most of the times they were just sitting on a chair looking at each other with different expressions. The narrator seemed to be the only one doing the talking.
The show began, the voice from the speakers spoke, Pain, remorse and despair, looks like all I can spare…
My works too complex for the masses to understand, too simple for the masters to comprehend, but do they really make sense? Ignorant elitist elevating themselves; These bourgeoisies acting as if they’re gifted with greater intelligence, they failed to see they too live in ignorance and filled with their own arrogance blinding themselves from adherence.
The voice now was talking about one of the cast’s thoughts…
I noticed I was daydreaming when I am supposed to be focusing; all that is left now is agitating. It feels like every time I should be focusing I am forced into daydreaming. My mind inadvertently prefers daydreaming; reality appears not as enthralling.
The veins in my head pulling and distressing, a cause to hurting, my belly full, my heart aching, my head empty, painful thoughts beckoning, the soul feels like its drowning, the demons lurking, consigning misguiding and misleading me amongst heedless thoughts.
The difficult choices, the rare opportunities, the dilemma faced, lies and truth both suffocating, like always paranoia and insecurity settles in, reigning over the shriveled self, a monument to a bleak future, awaiting belittling stares.
The young man then talked,
‘Since I was little, my portrayal was often belittled, every day’s little battle were dealt with enormous trial, for a kid with no ideal, the subconscious tried to replace reality with fascinating parables.’ The old man nodded understanding the boy’s experience.
The voice from the speaker now spoke,
The world and its people acted with sheer shallowness, but to them it seemed normal; they were part a small part of survival, the look in their eyes, degrading and conspiring—they transcend and at the same time emit fear. It is the only world they know, a depiction of lies and a made up world, surrounding the lives of these ignorant citizens. An audience whispered, ‘Is he talking about us?’
Oh brother, my life hath made harder, I sit alone in the depths of the ocean, I stare from beneath looking up at the glimmering stars, and they glow in delight oblivious to my plight. (They both looked up as if looking at the stars above.)
I find my heart getting hurt for not being able to look at the sun eye to eye, try as I might my fiery eyes useless and defeated against the mighty sunlight. Defeated again and again my skin goes wry, dry and my moral eventually dies.
The rain showering with constant attention with every drop that drops onto my skin—I feel affection a realization that I am alive when it rains on me…not so futile after all I am alive!
The trees act as an escapade, I runaway into the trees, sit in its branches and indulge in the fruits it offers, both of us comfortable with each other, accepting one another like no other.
I woke up from my stupor, the surrounding changed, the atmosphere got hotter, I see fire hazards and a haggard bastard, the rich dictator darkening a child’s future, the once a child now a poor bastard raising his hand in hunger.
The boy then said, “I wanna be a billionaire so freaking bad, is what I hear the people say, makes me realize we are all the same, how sad… I am attracted to clear lies. I have fallen into my worst nightmare, mind you, I live in a corrupt mind, how can I not be drawn to gleaming wealth that produces astounding bliss and delight?”
The poor old man, with nothing but his own thoughts cried, ‘suppression of anger, supplication towards the creator, understanding one another, the indication in denial, the ideals breaks apart, the idols stands all mighty, they were seen worshipping a man made deity.’
The boy looked at the old man, asking him on how to stay apart and at the same time not depart? He answered, ‘look at me I stayed apart and done my part. All that I have received is struggling and they hammered me with their eyes, they see me as if I appear as low as the feet are to the ground. Even in my dreams, I dream of people stomping on me.’
The boy cried, tears streaming down his eyes, thinking how he failed the part, ‘my mind says it’s not ready for this kind of disparity, apparently I am not ready to depart from the world, I am not worthy, Mr. Dorothy.’
But when we walk on our legs, they pout and look like they’ve been disrupt, the people in unison then said, ‘he does not come on fancy wheels, how can we be friends with someone who walk the streets?’
The old man replied, ‘our kind, we walk the boulevards looking down at the ground, to avoid from all the frowns, even the drivers at the drive way waiting for their bosses look at us with affront. Nevertheless no amount of disgust will stop me from attaining attainment.”
The narrator was now speaking out their consciences aloud, Go on laugh all you want, you might think I exaggerate, but we are able to look into your eyes and decipher your lies, through your very eyes; one can see another’s whole life and secrets. The audiences were silenced but the air in the theatre was getting tight with aghast.
The narrator continued, I fret everyday on how the conspirators succeed in changing people’s mind, their priority relies on popular belief, the majority are a baffled lunatics, everybody hoping to reach superiority, hoping to rule with supremacy, who is this priory pulling these strings, making a fool out of human beings, Cultivating their minds into heedless, self absorbed insensitive beings?
The old man then spoke with strong emotion, “no different than a stray dog, no whore will give water to this poor dog, you rule the terrains in the world, but we are endowed when the rain comes down, the trees and leaves, we hid ourselves in its branches—in raindrops we console each other with tears that drops.”
The boy now stood up and addressed his audience while motioning his hand moving it as he spoke, “What does this tell about me? I keep on complaining and bitching, clearly there’s something missing, in my chase to attain clarity, the body that houses the soul, it needs superficiality?! Could it be that I lack security? Could it be that I lack stability? Could it be spirituality? But then stability and security are just a depiction of the mind, no?”
The boy sat back at his chair facing the old man. The narrator started again, they realized they were going mad, (the boy and the old man both at the same time exclaimed, ‘I think I am going mad!’) the narrator continued, as they witnessed angels descending from the skies. A group of people tied by ropes on their backs dressed as angels were slowly pulled down to the stage, they moved delicately almost weightlessly. Their silvery features and golden transparent wings lit with beauty and happiness. Their faces were filled with happiness and gold dust.
The angels went around in circles and started caressing both the boy and the old man. They then made the boy and the old man lie down on the wooden stage. Soon after that, the angels pillaged on their heads and crushed their skulls. Even so, immediately after that they recovered and got their limbs back. The angels proceeded to step on them and crush them. And again they recovered and had an expression of dismal and disbelief in their faces. This continued for what seemed like a hundred years said the narrator exaggerating for effect.
The audience applauded. The lights were turned on and everyone stood up to getting ready to leave the theatre hall, but the exits were remained closed.
Not so fast the voice from the speakers said, what you just saw was a depiction of what you are going to go through; with that the place went dark again.
