The Armchair Epiphany

Gods and Sinners

She must have knew he was thinking about such indications of time and place as she coughed slightly for the mission to object his attention.

"Maybe, you are asking the wrong questions, Prasley. Don't you think if you can figure out why you are here rather than how then answers could come by."

The intellectual had said what she intended to but the dazed and stranded found it hard to convert into understandable meanings as he fell alone in his own mind where no explanation sprouted or gave a flicker of hope.

He looked back as the visage of anger and extort transformed in his eyes towards her.

She was a pretty picture that managed to blend itself in the shiny scenery but had the edge of something, an advantage of sorts that was making her catchy. But he was careless about how she looked since his only desire was to have answers.

If not safety.

The jazz band turned the last dance of its feverishly perky number as the lovers of the beauty came slowly towards the couches and the tables which lay close to Jerry whilst he agonizingly chafe himself in wait to be free.

The bounds of his screams, yells, the howls of a primal animal that he had become attracted no one's attention, not even the couple who stood near him, so close that he could smell the aftershave that emitted from the man's cheek.

His throat caught on fire and he let the fire burn itself out when her attention matched his.

"You love this place. This is the ballroom where your sister Mara got married."

She started casually and then lobbed a look at Jerry who was hastily practicing the art of being ignorant and was constantly failing at it since his clasped shut eyes let out the taps of tears that were too hard to hide.

She ignored as she continued.

"You were only in your teens when your second sister Moira were dancing on that floor, there."

She gestured to the empty marble smoothed surface where no one trotted happily but departed to the corners, the middle, the catwalks and the verandas which opened to a foggy nothingness.

"But you changed when your brother Jack got married. You weren't unhappy with it. You just realized something about yourself, especially about your family. Especially how they felt about you."

"How do you know all of this? This is a dream . . . whatever this is . . . how could you?"
"How could I when you have told no one about your thoughts? Not your thoughts about the modern architecture or the stupid politics. Or your editorial job."

This was the moment where the true visage of truth were supposed to make an entry as she leaned in close to the arms of the chair.

"The thoughts that really matters. 
Your blues. "

The crisp words that she pronounced seemed to have been the last straw of his sanity before sanity became a word he often talked about but only in the privacy of his own mind and not in public.

"Moira! 
 Jack! 
 Mara!"

"Please ! Please ! Take me home. I don't want any of this. Please I'm going insane. I'm a madman by myself. I'm afraid of myself. Please ! Don't leave me. Please don't put the phone down. Please call me every night and ask me how am I because I am afraid of myself. I don't want myself.

 Please ! Please Jack ! Jack ! Please don't leave me. I don't like it alone, Moira. I'm sorry I'm like this ! Please ! Just look back. I'm here. I'm sitting here.

Help me, Mara. Please!"