"How do I do this?" She asks. "How can I blindly stumble my way through life like this? Why can't I understand anymore?"
For that, they have no answer. No answer for her pleas for help. No answer for the questions she cries over. Nothing.
They never have answers, the quiet ones, because--and she is quite sure of this--they don't really exist. They are simply a way for her to live. She must believe there is some greater force out there, with absolute control, becuase, lets face it, leaving humanity to strive on its own is stupidity at it's finest. Humans are confused, dangerous, harmless, arrogant, constantly surprised. Part of what makes us human is our dreams of something better, something bigger.
Her dreams, however, have become too real. And they sit in dark corners, the quiet ones, hiding answers from her, she knows it, hiding all the answers, because just like she hoped, like we hope, The Quiet Ones have the answers, mapped out in those dark corners of life. But they do not want to be found. They do not want to share their secrets. Or at least, that's what she hopes. For knowing means no searching, and then there has to be an end, and another thing that makes us human? We fear the unknown, change, anything different. But most of all, we are afraid of the end. The end is the biggest change of all, the largest, "what if". The end, said aloud at the end of each story, the end, a terrifying, infinate thing we try to capture with two little words. Read more »