Labyrinthine

 

Peoples' lives are what we make of them.
Whether you like it or not.

A Story

At the mercy of The Coffee House by the street, a sole customer was given the privilege of having the first coffee of the day- one hour before the store opened.

The customer in question was a spindly young man, with nothing to back him up before the University Boards' inquisitive stare, as he was destined to be. 

Stuck in a hopeless conundrum between the desirable members of society (a 3rd Sem History Student) and the undesirable members of society (a 3rd Sem History Student with no money), he was all but wretched and miserable.

With the morning, he had trudged from his apartment at the corner of the block, in hopes of refreshment. The spinster who made a living by grinding coffee beans at said establishment beheld his godforsaken visage in pity, then after making sure he had money to pay for the 'cafe latte', led him inside the cafeteria. Lack of sleep gives deprived humans a little bit of an advantage over spinsters' nerves. N.B.

While the lady went behind the counter and readied the clocks for the day, the student prepared his first essay on the French revolution in his head.

True to his art, he started with the concluding line in hopes of making his way to the start by the end of the week.

"In summation, the French Revolution is, in fact, a precursor to all that is wrong with Europe- because their  populace speaks in love and _____________"

The prodigious writer of the above testament was now at a loss. The punch line fell flat in the silenced cafeteria. 

'And?' he thought to himself, ransacking the years of Louis and Roman Numerals and guillotines and blood and livres he had memorized so far.

He stared out of the window for answers. A time-honoured technique cherished by generations of academicians. The stained glass had rust gnawing at the iron edges. 

A pebbled street ended at the corner... As far as sight could see. 

The neighbourhood here was curious indeed. 

A couple houses whose families had  long broken up and left, a barber, holding up the family art alone, a P.G. for girls, where no girl had ever set foot, two rival tea-and-paan businesses, a little stairway on the wide street, leading up to deserted apartments, whose only inhabitant was ordering cafe latte in The Coffe House.

'A street full of ghosts and phantoms' he whispered to himself.

The spinster left his coffee on the table, and entered the 'employees-only' cabin behind the counter.

Solitude again.

Even The Coffee House was past its prime. The walls seemed to be hanging on only for the sake of the poor ceiling, whose spider-infested self would feel alone without its four pals for company.

'And now I'm personifying the ceiling' he chuckled, and slowly had his coffee.

'If now a person saw me from the street, what would they think?'

A mesmerizing young man having coffee at the poor establishment for the sake of it?

No, that's not it.

The coffee addict who had nowhere else to go?

That's more like it.

He sipped again, this time with growing concern.

The stained glass cast a curious reflection on the floor below. Its scars and stains were more profoundly visible on the ground than on the glass itself.

'The world magnifies scars that one might not notice in oneself.'

He put the coffee aside.

Scanning the length of the cafeteria, he spotted yellowing napkins on one of the parallel lines of tables.

A stub of pencil, old papers, a caffeinated brain.

The possibilities are endless.

But the view is more enchanting, don't you say?

When did words steal the charm of broken lives?

The paper and pencil were pushed aside.

History is not in those deaths and dauphins..

It breathes with unlined phosphorescence

This labyrinthine cacophony of existence

Rages on, it engulfs us all

All cogs in this universe

Intertwined.

The scholar breathes his last whiff of the coffee.

'The Bringer of Enlightenment', he smiled.

"In summation, the French Revolution is, in fact, a precursor to all that is wrong with Europe- because their  populace speaks in love, and knows no less of hate than of pikes."

He left a happy man.

⚜

Author's Note

Neither do I believe in God, nor am I an atheist. As I traverse this labyrinthine existence alongside those I call my own, I can only doubt who put the foundations in place at first...