Shoulder Forward
Aug. 25th, 2010 02:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonTerminus: Late Monday hustle of a crowded city street.
Against the opposing tide of human traffic, a not-so-very-young man pushes and shoulders his way down the busy sidewalk. Hands pocket thrusted, head down low, broad shoulders pressed forward against the opposing gravity of some invisible drama. Lips mime his thoughts frantic with the occasional fragment slipping out under his breath - "... leave or stay?"
The question escapes on a mutter, butterfly flutters up and bubble bursts over the flowing street. A small pop signals an implosion as white noise and crowd chatter around him are sucked in to fill the question's void.
A miracle of true silence descends and he doesn't even hear it.
With an instinctual grace that offers no interruption to his focus, he steps around a cross legged old man; one decrepit in poverty with bulged eyes peering from within a feral gray beard that seems to have swallowed up most of his face. The eyes, wild and nakedly leering, track and hone in on the passing man.
"Change!" he thunders after the man, who doesn't seem to hear him under the raging torrent of his own internal arguments and continues his way on home. The bum staggers to his feet and hobbles quickly after him.
"Change!" he roars, "Otherwise you'll just keep making the same mistake you always make!"
This snatches the man's consciousness from his distractions, and though his march doesn't stop, he does slow down enough to look over his right shoulder towards the old bum catching up with him.
He turns back around and steps directly into a expensively suited young professional, who herself was in the middle of a very heated conversation on her wireless headset. Though this collision doesn't deter her conversation, she turns around and, joining the old bum, follows the man. Shout-talking and gesticulating passionately at an executive level, her voice fades in -
"'Change?' Fuck that! Why are you always the one in the wrong? Why are you always the one apologizing for what you want or what you say instead of what you do? Isn't it time you focused on your needs for a change...?"
"What about her needs, you selfish bastard?" the old bum interrupts loudly, though without directly addressing the young lady flanking him. "How about all those times when you were down, when you were in trouble, when you needed love and money and sex no questions asked? How many times has she said 'yes' when all you could give her was a 'no'?"
"No, no, no... listen!" The professional cuts in before the question can settle properly. "We both know you've been there. That you've paid your dues. And not just with her either. How many times have you played 'Paladin-of-the-Broken-Heart', only to find yourself carrying love's luggage all the way across town to another man's bed? Wouldn't it be nice to be on the other end of that equation for once?"
The man says nothing, instead he pivots suddenly down a side street. The bum and the professional pursue close behind, he to the man's right, she to the left, both locked in unison steps and opposing views. The side street opens up on what looks like an almost different city. No one but the three of them.
"Your betrayals weren't delivered by her hand." The old bum speaks much softer now, "You would punish her for someone else’s transgression? Is that the kind of man you are?"
"Yes!" the professional sneers, waving dismissively with one hand while cupping her earpiece with the other, "The kind of man who's strong enough to be honest with their desires. Strong enough to not lie to himself about what he wants. Strong enough not to lie to her. Life's short. One day you'll be an old shriveled up prick and all you'll have in your dwindling memories is a few maybes because you were too scared to risk being happy!"
"Is the gratification of every impulse really all there is to a 'happy life'? There's no sacrifice of even the most passing of whims? Didn't you believe that happiness was a thing to be worthy of and not just merely obtained?"
"That's all he has you know - questions. Questions are romantic creatures, fragile and whimsical in their innocence. Why they can practically be anything at all really, no matter how silly or naive. Answers, however, are governed by a much more brutal economy, not of Truth but rather Will alone."
"Can you 'will' two plus two equals five?" the old man rumbles a laugh, "Will without truth is a terrible thing, son. A beast blind with power chasing its instincts off a cliff. Pride cometh before the fall..."
"... yes, but it also comes before the flight. Some plummet, sure... but others soar. It wouldn't be much of a leap of faith otherwise."
"You love her!"
"You love yourself more!"
"What's it going to be then?" they ask as one just as the man is about to cross the intersection. Behind the light shifts from Walk green to Don't red and freezes in between until both messages are juxtaposed over the other.
The man stops and turns around.
"I..." and at that point, directly in the path of a few steps further, a very large truck roars by and drowns out his response.
The man turns around and stares at the emptiness where death has passed.
He turns back around and the old bum and young professional are both gone. Only the empty way back behind him.
Nodding to himself with the conviction of some unspoken resolve, he continues solo on his way back home.
Against the opposing tide of human traffic, a not-so-very-young man pushes and shoulders his way down the busy sidewalk. Hands pocket thrusted, head down low, broad shoulders pressed forward against the opposing gravity of some invisible drama. Lips mime his thoughts frantic with the occasional fragment slipping out under his breath - "... leave or stay?"
The question escapes on a mutter, butterfly flutters up and bubble bursts over the flowing street. A small pop signals an implosion as white noise and crowd chatter around him are sucked in to fill the question's void.
A miracle of true silence descends and he doesn't even hear it.
With an instinctual grace that offers no interruption to his focus, he steps around a cross legged old man; one decrepit in poverty with bulged eyes peering from within a feral gray beard that seems to have swallowed up most of his face. The eyes, wild and nakedly leering, track and hone in on the passing man.
"Change!" he thunders after the man, who doesn't seem to hear him under the raging torrent of his own internal arguments and continues his way on home. The bum staggers to his feet and hobbles quickly after him.
"Change!" he roars, "Otherwise you'll just keep making the same mistake you always make!"
This snatches the man's consciousness from his distractions, and though his march doesn't stop, he does slow down enough to look over his right shoulder towards the old bum catching up with him.
He turns back around and steps directly into a expensively suited young professional, who herself was in the middle of a very heated conversation on her wireless headset. Though this collision doesn't deter her conversation, she turns around and, joining the old bum, follows the man. Shout-talking and gesticulating passionately at an executive level, her voice fades in -
"'Change?' Fuck that! Why are you always the one in the wrong? Why are you always the one apologizing for what you want or what you say instead of what you do? Isn't it time you focused on your needs for a change...?"
"What about her needs, you selfish bastard?" the old bum interrupts loudly, though without directly addressing the young lady flanking him. "How about all those times when you were down, when you were in trouble, when you needed love and money and sex no questions asked? How many times has she said 'yes' when all you could give her was a 'no'?"
"No, no, no... listen!" The professional cuts in before the question can settle properly. "We both know you've been there. That you've paid your dues. And not just with her either. How many times have you played 'Paladin-of-the-Broken-Heart', only to find yourself carrying love's luggage all the way across town to another man's bed? Wouldn't it be nice to be on the other end of that equation for once?"
The man says nothing, instead he pivots suddenly down a side street. The bum and the professional pursue close behind, he to the man's right, she to the left, both locked in unison steps and opposing views. The side street opens up on what looks like an almost different city. No one but the three of them.
"Your betrayals weren't delivered by her hand." The old bum speaks much softer now, "You would punish her for someone else’s transgression? Is that the kind of man you are?"
"Yes!" the professional sneers, waving dismissively with one hand while cupping her earpiece with the other, "The kind of man who's strong enough to be honest with their desires. Strong enough to not lie to himself about what he wants. Strong enough not to lie to her. Life's short. One day you'll be an old shriveled up prick and all you'll have in your dwindling memories is a few maybes because you were too scared to risk being happy!"
"Is the gratification of every impulse really all there is to a 'happy life'? There's no sacrifice of even the most passing of whims? Didn't you believe that happiness was a thing to be worthy of and not just merely obtained?"
"That's all he has you know - questions. Questions are romantic creatures, fragile and whimsical in their innocence. Why they can practically be anything at all really, no matter how silly or naive. Answers, however, are governed by a much more brutal economy, not of Truth but rather Will alone."
"Can you 'will' two plus two equals five?" the old man rumbles a laugh, "Will without truth is a terrible thing, son. A beast blind with power chasing its instincts off a cliff. Pride cometh before the fall..."
"... yes, but it also comes before the flight. Some plummet, sure... but others soar. It wouldn't be much of a leap of faith otherwise."
"You love her!"
"You love yourself more!"
"What's it going to be then?" they ask as one just as the man is about to cross the intersection. Behind the light shifts from Walk green to Don't red and freezes in between until both messages are juxtaposed over the other.
The man stops and turns around.
"I..." and at that point, directly in the path of a few steps further, a very large truck roars by and drowns out his response.
The man turns around and stares at the emptiness where death has passed.
He turns back around and the old bum and young professional are both gone. Only the empty way back behind him.
Nodding to himself with the conviction of some unspoken resolve, he continues solo on his way back home.
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on 2010-08-25 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
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on 2010-08-25 08:35 pm (UTC)