tackman

 “Jason laughs, ‘That’s camp. Did you know that?’ You shrug, ruffling the pages under your thumb, thinking of reading, alone, in your room tonight.” - The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories by Gene Wolfe

You hear the smirk in the questions. It helps them love themselves, knowing you. “What about real stories?” And they don’t listen for your answer you cannot construct. The questions will return when the meter of nonsense rises in tide once more. It erodes your exterior and secures your resolve. The greater they fail to know you the more fortified you become in your labyrinth. 

You know the minotaur a friend but they do not believe in its hooves and horns. You dance in languages they can never hear. You cry for ghosts and speak with kings. You’ve lost a hundred loves and died to a thousand fears. You are beckoned into the eternal Valhöll living. 

But do you wander the Hall alone? Does one hear the voice you never speak? Is there one whose questions are answers?

“You put the open book facedown on the pillow and jump up, hugging yourself and skipping bare heels around the room. Marvelous! Wonderful! But no more reading tonight. Saves it, save it. Turn the light off, and in the delicious dark put the book reverently away under the bed, pushing aside pieces of the Tinker Toy set and the box with the filling station game cards. Tomorrow there will be more, and you can hardly wait for tomorrow.” - The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories by Gene Wolfe