Creative Piece

This one really has no rhyme or reason. Just a creative story that flowed from the noggin down through the keyboard.

Untitled

There once was a man who knew exactly where to go. The only problem was. He was blind. He knew deep down that if only he could see, he would be able to make it to where he wanted to go. He was crippled by fear. Not being able to move in fear of moving further away from where he wanted to be. From where he knew how to get to. If only he could see. People passed by, so he would ask them to be his eyes. But they only wanted to give him advice. What advice would help him, when he already knew the way? He just wanted someone to listen to his directions and help him get to the only place he knew how to. 

Eventually…. He gave up. Not because his dream faded, but because time felt endless when you can’t see the sun rise or set. Darkness feeds darkness feeds darkness feeds darkness. Inward he fell. Downward he let go.

One man passed, who could not hear. But he could see this man needed a friend. He tried to speak the best he could. But only noises came out, no words. His thoughts were lost in the space between his mind and the listener’s ears. He wanted to use sign language but he could tell the man was blind. How could this be. That the one to help was the only one that couldn’t. 

“Why can’t anyone help me?” the blind man thought. “Didn’t anyone care? Why won’t anyone listen?” They needed what he had. But they disregarded what he thought. He wanted an answer. A solution to his problem. 

The blind guide listened to the deaf man. Not hearing what could have been so much help. The deaf man tried to touch the blind man’s arm to see if he could portray a message. The message was lost without the right tools. 

Everyone’s watching. Waiting. Laughing.

A third man walks by with a skip in his step. Not sure of his journey but not a regret. He jumped and danced and played on his fiddle. He noticed two guys, struggling a little. Now the time came for three men to combine. The strength of three, a well threaded vine. 

The blind man knew, it was finally his time. Because this odd man suddenly made everything rhyme. According to nature, if it rhymes it’s true. Now the blind man wanted to see, what this odd man would do. 

He asked for help and gave him a whistle. The odd man shrieked and giggled a little. The deaf man stood, and watched a strange sight. Of two men communicating, regardless of light. It was dark out now, so how could they make it? Scared and confused, his emotions were naked. But wow he could see, see so clearly. That they were meant to travel, and become sincerely… the best of friends, they needed each other. In the dark the light shines, it shines like no other. The story continues, now without rhyme, a sudden reminder we’re out of time. 

The blind man asked if they could go where he knew. The oddball said, “of course buck-a-roo”. The deaf man signed, “this is so complicated.” The oddball said, “don’t worry, you’re jaded.” “Next time this year we’ll be where he sees. The only place that was meant for you and me.” The deaf man was troubled, “again with the rhyme?” He understood the oddball, must be a sign. Now three men, that needed each other. One focused, one helpful, one stuck in a slumber. Which is which, you can decide for yourself. But the destination began when they let go of themselves. It was others they needed, a fine way to travel. To lean on each other, it was a whole new battle. Worth it it was, because they made it to the place. Where sight was regained, and hearing replaced. Laughter and joy could be heard and seen, and the oddball rejoiced because he found new meaning. Thank you oh God I wasn’t left to roam.. or never hear a thing.. or never go home. The broken and battered, the ones that are discarded. Are the ones that come together, to build and restarted. They made it, they sang, they laughed for a while. Completing the task, he knew as a child. Finally it was over, he could rest for a while. Until it was time, to do what He wanted.