SaD (Story a Day): The City Revisited
May. 1st, 2011 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerSomewhere out there is a city with no name, where there are no signs on the streets, no numbers on the houses, and no names on the shops. They do say it was created by a madman who was tired of apologising and explaining, which proves he was a madman, for what man ever gets tired of doing that? They say he built a huge machine that could take him anywhere he told it, and if the place didn't exist, why, it would make it up for him, so it would, and he told it to take him somewhere quiet.
The buildings in that city are big and black, and black is the river that rolls sluggishly through it, and black is the wear of the people who walk its streets, never speaking a word. They see what needs to be done and they do it. When they're hungry, they go into a cafe and are fed. They never fight, never hurt, because fights come from misunderstanding, and misunderstanding, unlike understanding, needs words. And at the end of the day, the men, if they want to, go down to the river bank, and then, if she wants to, a woman will take a man on board her boat, and pole out to the middle of the river, and then there are sounds in the night, but never a word.
They sent some people in to fetch this madman out, and it took them a while, it did. And they found a curious thing. At first they found the silence oppressive, the unspeaking stares of the people unnerving, and when they spoke to each other it sounded too loud. And then little by little, one by one, they began to understand, and they began to see that no matter how skilful you are at stringing words together, all they ever do in the end is trap you in unintended meanings and betray you with false friends. And one by one they started to wander off, and to think maybe they knew what they needed to do, and to fancy themselves in black.
But their leader called them to order, and they went and found the madman, which was a good thing for him, because--and this is the sad part--he wasn't happy. He couldn't belong. He'd made this place from his own soul to hide in, but he couldn't be of it. He could imagine a wordless understanding, but he couldn't share it. So they brought him back to a world where people talk to him, if it's only to ask are the straps too tight, and there he apologises and explains all day long to the walls of his room, because they're easier to talk to than the people of his city.
But the city's still out there, with no signs on the streets and no numbers on the houses and no names over the shops, and the people still live their lives, doing what needs to be done, sharing an understanding deeper than words. And I'm thinking sometimes, it might be a nice place to visit. But I wouldn't want to live there.
[Edited for consensuality]
The buildings in that city are big and black, and black is the river that rolls sluggishly through it, and black is the wear of the people who walk its streets, never speaking a word. They see what needs to be done and they do it. When they're hungry, they go into a cafe and are fed. They never fight, never hurt, because fights come from misunderstanding, and misunderstanding, unlike understanding, needs words. And at the end of the day, the men, if they want to, go down to the river bank, and then, if she wants to, a woman will take a man on board her boat, and pole out to the middle of the river, and then there are sounds in the night, but never a word.
They sent some people in to fetch this madman out, and it took them a while, it did. And they found a curious thing. At first they found the silence oppressive, the unspeaking stares of the people unnerving, and when they spoke to each other it sounded too loud. And then little by little, one by one, they began to understand, and they began to see that no matter how skilful you are at stringing words together, all they ever do in the end is trap you in unintended meanings and betray you with false friends. And one by one they started to wander off, and to think maybe they knew what they needed to do, and to fancy themselves in black.
But their leader called them to order, and they went and found the madman, which was a good thing for him, because--and this is the sad part--he wasn't happy. He couldn't belong. He'd made this place from his own soul to hide in, but he couldn't be of it. He could imagine a wordless understanding, but he couldn't share it. So they brought him back to a world where people talk to him, if it's only to ask are the straps too tight, and there he apologises and explains all day long to the walls of his room, because they're easier to talk to than the people of his city.
But the city's still out there, with no signs on the streets and no numbers on the houses and no names over the shops, and the people still live their lives, doing what needs to be done, sharing an understanding deeper than words. And I'm thinking sometimes, it might be a nice place to visit. But I wouldn't want to live there.
[Edited for consensuality]