a little stir and numerous inquisitive looks.
Conversations with a dog. Delusions of grandeur; persecutions that might have never existed. Envy that mumbles incoherent things, day in day out: silence is a privilege reserved for others, an idyllic state he has been forbidden from finding again; illegible theory in a dusty old notebook. Words accumulate in the corners of a dim lighted room where guilty smiles are born and left behind, hastily.
His deepest desire was to have more – royalty calls. A rift between worlds leaves him on Spanish shores. One can hear the screams from here.
The sound of a steady drip silences all laughter. Drops of cold water floating in the air that turn into sleet upon touching the skin. Attempts to wrap them up in a deathly hush for it seems impossible to bring back an already elusive sanity.
He is talking again. His subjects will not be pleased. His face, ashen with fear.
So much rain under this blood red sky.