The Fool

The Fool

A Chapter by Andrez Cervantes

Dear Reader,

I met a fool.

I came across it while wondering through these endless nights.

Its mind was scattered, fast paced and forever in motion.

It described its days like weeks. Weeks would turned into months and months turned into years. Years would turn into months. Months would turn into weeks and weeks would turn into days.

It was smiling on the outside. Was it forced?

I looked upon It with great curiosity. Time seemed to stop yet the world seemed to shift.

I looked behind It and I saw a hallway. Dark and worn. I see cracks along the walls. I see broken glass. I see damaged pipes and eroded sufaces. I see trickles of blood and sprinkles of rain falling from the hole-punctured ceiling.

It didn't feel safe. It cared to much about what I thought. I felt like it was scared of me. I reached out...

There was scattered sprouts of beauty. The hallway walls were colorful. The ground wasn't made of tile or any bound man-made substance. It was thick grass; a light forest colored green that looked soft to the touch.

I could feel Its breeze, its breath as I walked through.

Doors at the end were broken, as if forced. The old, chipped, desaturated blue paint showed under the newly crudely painted blue. A quick fix?

My hands ran across these walls. My eyes never stopped moving just as my hands never stopped feeling; my whole body was in an optimal absorbent state.

It was confused. Although It seemed to know what it was doing and It knew it had a purpose.

"Time...," It said, "Time and the will to wait."

It showed me things.

I observed new hallways and a deeper painted picture of what It was about.

It liked the thought of pleasing others. "To see my actions bring others happiness or some sort of tranquility brings me joy and solidarity." Yet, this matter can be confusing. What is someone else's happiness over your own? It replied, "I approach this problem, that, when I think everything is ok...everything is amiss, misguided or mistaken."

It was scared of society. The will to observe and create oblique conclusions was a fear It has yet to conquer. I could see this. I could feel it. I didn't want Its' smile to be forced. I didn't want Its' presence to be tainted with the thought of being confined to judgement.

Over many years I have come to understand more of It.

I can barely, but somewhat, map out what is felt and what is seen.

"Why is it that I care so much? I know...that when I look into your eyes or hear your voice I feel this bond...I see this connection and I feel your will. I wouldn't trade this for the world. But. I wonder if anyone else feels the same..."

I walked into a room.

A giant bed encased by pillows and blankets ranging in thick, soft and plush to thin, soft and formless. These walls were deep and dark in color. The color of a red apple on the brink of spoil. The ceilings were high. I felt so small here. Candles flickered all over the place. I can find solitude here.

Knives by the side of the bed. Notes, letters, broken tears and misunderstood songs.

I felt as if I could sleep forever in here.


"Who could ever hear these cries of any from outside of this room...

"Now you know where I lay, where I sleep...would you do what others have done," questioned It.

Some rooms, hallways, walkways seemed out of place. A totally different style. Lifeless and colorless. I needed to ask why they were even here.

"intake all you can..."

Its mind and actions were in different places. Always separated and never within reach. "What It could do, It did. What It couldn't do, It tried." I could see It lived by this notion; this philosophy. I could see the ware. I could see the scars. I could see the pain and fear. But this was different. It was a different kind of ware, a different scar, different pain and fear. It was...good...wanted...needed...

"There is no mask. This is who I am."

Outside of some windows I could hear the laughs of people. The snarls and the grotesque comments. I could see the damage this mob had conjured. There were more at some windows then there were at others. Glass broken and being shattered. Arms reaching through. Some rooms were even full of them; being taken over.

"A constant battle..."

Doors locked. Doors shackled. Areas unclear. Overwhelmed.

© 2014 Andrez Cervantes

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Added on February 19, 2014
Last Updated on February 19, 2014


Andrez Cervantes
Andrez Cervantes

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