I put down my cup and raise my head up to a level position,
the questions I’m asked aren't hard but I feel far away when I answer them.
Its been days since I've slept, and years since I let myself
believe but now I do.
Now I know the truth and with what use I could be to the
world
My fingers uncurl from a clenched fist under the table and
I’m able to focus again
mind is at ease gun hand releases the cup
of tea and I look up from the table to see him staring back at me
"The answer you ask for is not one for me to give. Do you
believe in causative reality? Do you believe that everything happens for a
reason or that we are the masters of our own existence? Do you believe in
persistence?"
I offer
The man across the table relinquishes his glare relaxes into his chair and taps twice on the table with
his Parker pen.
The air is stern now, fervent heat through electricity magnetizes
the room as the truth pulses between us
His eyes grow darker and with it his demeanor. I stay, sharp, alert. The sleep that clung to
me at the start of questioning resides allowing me to slide back into control.
"Do you believe we have a soul? Do you believe we know all there is? Do you
believe we have given all we have to give? Have we lived?"
He turns his head away from mine in disgust, the lust for carnage
and disproportionate anarchy rattles through his eyes and out of his fists.
Still I sit.
His control turns cold, rage heated to the point of
exploding he tries to resolve but I have him. He is mine. Never in turn never
out of line I ask him one more time.
"Do you really think we are alive?"
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