Silence (Working title)

((Not quite sure what sort this is, but some time ago I finished reading a book that inspired me. There's a gap at the ellipsis, because I'm not quite sure what to place between that and the end. The last two sentences aren't "the end," per se, but where I would like to go with it.))

Silence

I?m taken back to a day 7 years ago. The town home in which I lived stood sweltering in air that oft became more or less convoluted the longer you stared. The home of my family had just welcomed us. The garage door came to a steady close, turning the ratio of light in favor of the modest, sallow fluorescence of itself. Rushing into the foyer, rich, radiant beams struck our whitened walls and filled the house with a light that made you excited to greet the day. We would miss it for the most part. For us, the return from church meant a completion of our sleep cycles. But a deal stricken with one young boy would make this his only recourse.

What is it in human interaction that transcends words? When someone speaks, you might hear a different tone despite what?s being said, or maybe what isn?t said. I think about the nuances in every emotion. Anger, contempt, hatred. You might be angry at someone telling you that you can?t go outside on certain days, but you might be gracious enough not to hate them. I think about the ephemeral nature of silence. It can be a means of communicating; it can also be what it means.

I heard the story of a young boy whose life echoed the sound of countless others. He was strong, handsome, and gifted with intelligence. Intelligence, we learn, takes us so far before shrinking behind the jurisdiction of wisdom or experience. He squandered his time in school away, like a wooden block twiddled down to Atlas, with the world on his shoulders. Like all other young boys at some point in their young lives, he found himself on the receiving end of a little girl?s affection. She was not a replica of the dolls featured on the television, magazines, or on the lips of his peers, but she was beautiful and the young boy knew it better than she did. But the prescription of this media offered no remedy.

In the latter days of the Roman Empire there lived a man whose legacy arguably matched Rome?s; whose teachings reside in the minds of masses, flourishing or rotting. I speak of Jesus the Nazarene. Not of the controversy surrounding him, but of his relationship with his disciples. Modern followers read his words and understand, but I try to imagine the bewilderment of his followers then as he spoke words unheard. A heresy. I try to imagine what he thought after being ambushed, interrogated, and abused. What did the Sanhedrin see in his silence? What do believers see in those words, ?But Jesus kept silent??

How does one ascertain his own thoughts in spite of himself? He seeks to be objective in his subjective thoughts. He first considers how wrong his partner is and how to correct them. But he isn?t so haughty as to make an ?Actually?? statement and commence his own discourse of correct thinking. His lip isn?t so stiff that this uncouth element be silenced. Perhaps if he put on a smile, the confrontation would not be so serious. But he isn?t so condescending that his amusement is piqued at the folly of others.

...

When the Holocaust is described as no more than a hoax, an adage comes to mind. ?Never argue the inarguable.?

Source: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/RolePlayGateway/~3/ifkpmU8Hp-0/viewtopic.php

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