Corpuscle
By Casey Douglass
‘We are meant to
flow, to move from one event to another, not to dig our heels in and
clasp the objects around us.’
The hushed audience
murmured as hundreds of tired minds processed the information. A few
muted claps and a coughing fit later, the grey-maned man at the
lectern smiled and continued.
‘What happens when we
stay in one place for too long? That one area soon becomes all too
familiar. I am not just talking about location, but occupation,
inclination and many other areas of life. Humans lose their edge when
they are comfortable, when they have everything that they think
they need, when they feel safe. The irony is that this is when they
are truly in the most danger. You!’ he pointed at a chubby blonde
woman in the front row. ‘You!’ he pointed at a suited man with
thick-rimmed glasses. ‘You! You! You!’ his pointing finger aimed
and arced across the room, the tip jarring nerves and increasing
pulses wherever it landed.
‘Wake
up! You are a long time dead! Move on to new things and don’t grasp
at illusion. Don’t get angry or frustrated with life’s hurdles.
Don’t lust for things or give in to your baser urges, use that
energy to better yourself and the world!’
The
crowd jumped to its feet and the air erupted in rapturous applause,
whistles and cheers. The man took a step back and bowed.
‘Thank
you! Thank you for listening to the rantings of an old man. If I can
reach just one person, my work here is done! Goodnight!’
More
whistles swelled into the rafters above, the windows of the old hall
fogging with condensation. He waved and vanished behind the heavy red
curtain, the fabric muffling the noise from the other side.
He
hummed a tuneless ditty as he trotted down the steps, his mind
already fantasizing about the money the stall would be making
tonight, and how many hookers he could afford to employ
simultaneously at the hotel later.
THE END
