Short Story-A Landfill Of Memories.

There he sat. Resigned to one side of a dim cafe. The air stiff with boredom and tangy smoke. His ears listened inadvertently to the soft whirr of coiled neon-fixtures drilled against the wall beside him–the room had a sizzling pulse.

He lift his half-lit face from the long screen in front of him and watched with a void intent at the people that ran the place and those who dare set foot in this peculiarly ordinary establishment.

His mind ran with it, the memories and bedraggled minds each and every person contained. Silently, perhaps from some cosmic mercy, we were allowed but the bare finishing layer encasing each soul to see and extract our guesses.

He hoped no one familiar would see him and invade his cherished privacy, his delectable loneliness.

From a very young stage, Carl hadn’t felt the grim weight of loneliness. For him it was a shelter from wild unhampered moods, and unwelecome forays into his being.

People held their cards very close. Yet, they wag more flags than they should. Carl tried to see the world the way he ought to. But his unique self prohibited him from such a task. For he always saw the vague outward contours and rippling waves of subtle nuance creeping upon his forsought and fragile logic.

To him, the day was fluid.

A mixture of clashing strokes of gnashing color and sound. It was nothing but peaceful. Nevertheless, he blessed the inaudible screaming world, and understood it beautiful pleas. And reciprocated with acknowledgement

Living in the cool embrace of a shadow, slowly digesting the sensory assault from around him, in his own comfortable pace.

He didn’t hate life, on the contrary. He and many others like him, savored life more than anyone else. Carl was one of those who took every intonation of sound, every whisper and lancing needle of light to a loft degree of veneration.

The day gave him more meaning than what others could extract.

Unfortunately, others could not understand him, so he was labeled, scoffed and politely exiled from the main aggregations of human society. However, it was a banishment that he was surprisingly content to indulge.

From time to time, in a library, cafeteria or gallery. Look carefully in the corners, or perhaps in the starkly bright center of a room, there should sit a brave inanimate subject bred from the densely curious stocks of creation. That’s where the infinite chasms of meaning swirl and churn in their heads.

Thus the true words of life and death are bespoken by vessels of finite existences.

One of those beings is called Carl.

2 Comments on “Short Story-A Landfill Of Memories.

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