A Little Less Conversation

This sea.

When I first saw it, I thought it could be some kind of redemption.  I was wrong.  The sea holds promises only to itself, and can be judged by no man.  It would have nothing to do with us, no luck to bestow upon us.  It still watches with glass eyes, almost condemning in its lack of judgment. 

Sweeping events are beginning right under our feet.  Yet the order of things does not stop for great forces. 

I greet Benson when he returns from lunch, and we set about delivering the linens and herbs next.  He asks if I got much done.  I tell him that I did.  I let him take the crate of herbs to Zink and go on alone to the linen shop.  I am not in the mood for talking to Zink, and have no desire to see those girls.  The woman in the linen shop is happy to see me, or at least happy with the delivery.  She is motherly in a soft, round sort of way, but doesn’t invite me to stay, which pleases me.  Too many things are floating about my mind for me to make adequate conversation and engage in niceties. 

I step outside and walk back to where Benson left the cart.  I quickly realize that Zink must have invited him in to be social, an opportunity he rarely passes up.  I wait with the cart for a few minutes before sucking up my bad mood and going to fetch him. 

  Of course, he is laughing with the rest of them.  Benson, Zink, and one of the girls sit in a circle on Zink’s favorite plush rug.  As I step in, a voice from the down hallway calls,

“Tomas is here!”

The End

20 comments about this story Feed