Millions of feet have travelled this road, that ends the night, before me.How could this be, when behind and ahead of me there are only two hundred feet treading on the dead greyness? They must have walked it more than once, they must have died here a hundred and three times, and were always resurrected by the sunrise.
I walk this narrow road alone, having left behind my everyone in the pages of that wordless book.The book has aspiration as an introduction but its body is made of ineligible scribbling as if written by a shivering hand.Shadows of the dead branches ran up and down a crumbling wall.Are the shadows the ghosts of the branches that once blessed here? The road is empty, the hoarse wind plays its violin from atop the low wall.
To fear is to exile all the senses of the body and give way to the senses of imagination.And I could not bring myself to abandon my physical senses, for I want to save them for the day I can see, feel, taste, hear and smell the body that was made for me.So I walked like a regular in the strangest of raods.
As I was halfway through the road I saw a distant silhouette that had all the traits evolution had endowed humanity with.I kept my head down for I felt a large hand burdened with tranquility force me to look down upon the kingdom of forgotten rain.So I could not see this lonely figure but I could hear its footsteps; the silence made it sound like he was wearing spurs that jangled across the grease of the tarmac.They drew closer and closer until they obstructed the heavy air I was breathing.Suddenly the hoarse wind stopped and I felt a thick arm push me harshly against the wall.The ghosts of the branches fleed at my loud crash, they took their search for love's carcass elsewhere.
The strong arm held me up against the wall, and I could feel the cold caress of a knife against my shivering throat.His face was within arm's reach of mine: I could see his eyes as blue as a waterfall, his hair as black as a mediterrenean night, he had rough cheek bones like that of a Phoenician god.I could tell he was not born here, but he has been made to live here; he wanted to escape the eternal songs of cities weeping under the hills.After regaining his composure he said to me :
"What have you done with the stars? Give them to me or I will leave you for dead!"
I glanced quickly at the sky and saw the awkward clouds had hidden all the stars from view.
"I don't have them anymore, I have given them away, but please do not shed my unrife blood, the earth would not take me."
"You have the stars, I know it! Give them to me or I will sacrifice your blood to the mediterrenean so it can release me!"
I began to tremble violently as I felt a new life enter me: that wonderful, brief, life, lived blissfully, minutes before death takes your hand.
"Please, I will give you my money, my clothes, take it all, just don't leave my body as prey to the wind."
I could see his thick brows bow with anger, he would not be sated by anything other than what he asked for.
Oh withered branches, your stillness I will soon borrow!
But before he could speak again, the clouds above us parted as if to sail away into the port of day.And at their disappearance, there they came: the stars.
He looked up at them, and stared for a few infinite seconds, as if he was lost in a dream.Then he looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes and the faint hint of a luminous smile.He then let me go and ran away, more with joy than haste.The road was once more still.
The first feeling I felt when I was once more left to the unawakened road was pity.I pitied him! For the happiness he has is an unfound one.For I knew that the stars he saw, the stars glistening in the night sky are not the real stars.I did not lie to him: I truly had given the stars away.I had given them in a bouquet to her whose heart was made for me.
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