The Gift

The lone figure wanders through the city, unnoticed and unacknowledged. Less than a shadow: a stranger with eyes that see more than human eyes ever should. Those eyes fall across so many faces, and all the truths are broadcast into the unassuming soul’s mind. All the answers are there. All the causes and all the solutions of every problem in every life.

The figure tries to close those eyes, to block out the rush of information. The lesson had been learned so long ago: to know and to share do not go hand in hand. To need and to receive are not the partners they might seem. To offer all the answers, to share them with those who need them most, is to be met with rejection, disgust, fear, anger, hatred, violence.

A small part of the cloak of practical invisibility is set aside as the figure chooses a spot and takes the guitar out of its case. A song begins to play, the case open for donations which will come rarely if at all. The figure is unconcerned. The music is what matters. The ideas that would be turned away when presented in words are welcomed in the form of a song that slips into the minds of passersby and takes root in their thoughts. The causes and solutions of all the problems will be ignored, but the song will provide them with the one thing they are willing to accept, if only for a moment: that they are not alone in their pain.

But the music fades from their minds before the echoes have time to die. The guitar is nestled back into its case, and the figure shuffles away into the unique variety of solitary obscurity that shrouds those with an incredible, but useless, gift.


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