That poor man laughed at him and the minds of former men who watched his horrid dreams and racial slurs. It was a sort of strange belief in his entitlement to your rent money. He was such a strong boy. The name his girlfriend spoke wasn’t the one that took those worlds to their old watershed.
It didn’t need to make a statement.
It just needed to face these opening words.
He found the need to share these words, so he had. The modern dilemma is a mindscape scraped and studied, opened to a point of desired submission and truth in scientific study. And they will take lives from people speaking lively in peculiar situations. So that poor old, handsome liar, he had never wanted to see this life.
And you think what is best is to walk to your sister’s and talk.
When you knock on the door her little girl ran and shouted she was getting it. This was a vibrant afternoon marked with dancing shadows caused by the trees that lined her stone tile walk shaking in the wind. Otherwise things were soft and calm that day at the house and the nine year old shouted, “Uncle Raine! Is Diana here?”
“No,” you reply softly, “I need to talk to your mother.”
You step into the house and sister comes around the corner moving quickly to the open door. She greets you politely.
The woman stands as a silhouette. Her forward leg is bent at the knee and high in the air in front of a bright white lights flashing behind her. The surrounding yard shines in patterns developed by her motions.
You smile at her, “I’m losing it, sis. I need to settle in.”
She takes a step down the stairs and asks her daughter to move inside. Your niece shows her protest and is motioned inside the brown suburban home.
“Talk to me, Stanly,” she says.
Your sister used to always call you Stanly. It came from a game that you would play together, the one that needed those silly hats for when you sat in the cardboard boxes. She kept that inside until later and began to call you that again at twenty. It made you feel good. You felt loved. But she pushed in aside again by the time she was twenty because she made bar friends.
This is the first time in ten years she has called you that.
“See, dear Sister of mine,” You begin, “It is that the minds of reasonable people are never influenced by outside forces. These are those who meet men of former glory. If men of words and men of action are taken towards in separate and distinct directions that hold the same final result, than the only man of face who really exists is the Creator. The one that the Gods claim is their God. The one that hides so far behind a tree that you can only see layers of the beings followers. They guard you as they show you that the true God is behind them. And you know to trust these entities. But martyr beware, you do not know one space from the other. The other that left us open, man. That one.”
Your sister listens intently and asks you inside. You politely decline. So she wishes you a good night. You wish her a good night. You wave at her little girl who runs towards you and gives you a deep hug. You wish her goodnight telling her your daughter will stop by soon. You make the best smile you can and walk down the block. The road is facing the end of summer now. There is only one word to feed this hymn. You begin to think of the benefits of bureaucracy. You feel safe because there are one million people between you and the man who made the law.