July 17th, 2012
He left home, work, company. Joining a phalanx of the movement of what’s to come. He took possession of the knife, the bag, the raincoat and several books. He taught himself to speak and articulate anew. He wasn’t liked or listened to properly. Even I had suspicions of him having become a madman in his mastery – of what? I had no clear idea. Following him these years made me weary. I lacked conviction and was afraid of the knife. Then he said it was time. Took a flag out. Badly sewn from what was left of his raincoat and his bag.
I looked at her, asking. It was to be done.
He stood there, alone, holding the flag. Nothing I could do, not anymore. I had to tell her something she never heard before. Something that would put me in a position of abandoning him and the flag.
And so I did.