“What’s the matter?” she asked, her lips again feline. His gaze shifted to the waves. Mesmerizingly blurry. Her sigh like the calm surf outside. She knew. No point in telling her nothing. The ferry rocked them gently, calming. But still an inner unrest screamed at him. A growing anxiety squirmed inside, that even her presence couldn’t ease.
“The windows are opaque,” he said, contemplating a more thorough explanation for his unprovoked silence. The banality of it. It seemed evident here in the cold confinement of the ferry.
“So … nothing’s wrong?” Her hand on top of his. Cold, daring.
“You see the veil, don’t you? How everything gets blown out of proportion through the drops of water?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a near whisper. “But there’s a world out there. You can see it.”
“It’s broken. Maybe that’s why it won’t let us see the true nature of it. Do you think that’s possible?”
Pregnant clouds the color of dirty milk scattered the grey sky. A motoscafo passed them. Its captain a splotchy shadow. She turned in her plastic seat. Her gaze was like an insisting entity.
“I’m scared,” she said tightening her grip. Yes. So was he. To death.
“It’s happened before. Seducers, demagogues, charlatans. It’s always about money, power. It’s about eternal war.” He turned from the dismal scene outside and caught her darting eyes. “They all lie. We’re a blindfolded product of mass hysteria or some insane mass suggestion. Ask yourself who is biased, ask yourself who benefits from this ardent way of manipulation that is going on everywhere.” Treacherous tears found their way, altering the truth even more. He hated it. Not the lack of strength, but because he cared. Maybe everything would be easier, if …
“But why?”
“When you lose interest and take everything for granted, you become numb. You stop missing the texture of grass. You never stop to think about when the air was clean. The sea was calming.”
“And you?”
“Me? Nobody cares.”
“That’s not true.”
“Unless you do something you are of little concern, and you’ll never see past the veil. The lies. The biased information.”
The lower crescent of the sun sank below the heavy clouds, bathing the lagoon, offering another pointless night, and maybe another fruitless daybreak.
“I love the texture of grass,” she said closing her eyes. Her face was streaked with liquid gold in the shimmering and dying light.
“Me too,” he said.
EDITOR'S NOTE
Published author in Denmark. But it is his marriage between words and visuals that we want. David is one of those rare beasts that can write and shoot - as you know, that is the kind of cats we collect here at AB. It is a debut here for him and us, and we are hoping to see more. A lot more.