Cedric was, a man, whose trousers of fine fabric had been robbed of their former atonement, and in fact, over time turned grey. Though that fact would be unnoticeable to all those affording a similar looking garment, even when perhaps of lesser quality. His dress shirt, made of fine linen by a master Quarter-man (Quartermaster), as was the entire suit, was equivalent in color to his very manor and wore him well. Pityingly, he stood at the very gapes of pathways which were subsequently within eyesight of all those who new better. His secret now had eyes and ears and witnesses. Their biased opinions could indeed be heard by the walls surrounding them. Even repeating his recourse, however false. Iniquity was out of place to others, though it fit his hands like gloves. As if they had been purposely purchased falsely only to be returned at a later date, without the bill of sale. He wore spectacles which had been placed seemingly inadequately upon the very tip of his nose. Their thickness had proven themselves handy, as they often shared company with the ground beneath his feet. However small, they seemed to menace his slightly bearded face, which, in turn, had yet to see the remnants of a razor’s edge nor either its counterparts.
He was absent from the very school he should have been attending, His lessons guild should equal that of the infirmary for his writer and paper now contained themselves in darkness and would be of no use to him, at all, as he had failed to retrieve the pair before they too lie broken or withered or both.. He was abstinent from all things he should adhere to. So should his name be called, alphabetically, or slowly, (he would hear it not) and be it reserved in his fathers name lastly or engraved in wood, he would hear it not. Even then he would appear anywhere else but here. Be it close by the door or window or not. He indeed, would, be still abort of his chair and coined. Without challenge or contest his opponent would lose on any level. No matter how hard he reveled. The army of swords should fail him. For now it would be he against himself.
Undoubtedly, returning itself to him without any presence of a voice to scorn any answer he would choose to give or either scathe him, at all. Time had once beside him. It would now bereave him of the many things he coveted down to nothing. He would, indeed, be too late this time. Too late to answer his call. The very watch used to shackle his wrist to bend would lend itself to echoes chord exactly five minutes before the hours glass could fill. Though, this time, it would count for nothing. However many minutes he would have had in his favor. However great he was. His greatness was no more. Everything that partied him had left. The very span of his life had been traded for a lot’s sum of crisps.
Under the influence of liquids, whose potency elated the taker upon arrival, thereby consuming him. The speed he chose to leer them often met his equilibrium with undenying accuracy and timbered him, as he tendered his soles to walking. The upper hand sieged his might, though his hand be moving to ward things not. His glass raised. The liquid orifices which were bottled and sold took but one tenth of his earnings now nay. Uncumbered and green the seeds and roots which once raveled themselves and he come undone. Weakened at the loss of his known agilities, now left the the earth to tame the grass. A colored past indeed he lead without ever being the leader or near him, No, it would bed him not,
Now there would be none left to spare. Not even pents and if so there was who would take them in trade for bills or paper? His vision had become about the same. The same as the likes of those he once harvested ridicule in without water. Notting Hill quartered him pastly and welcomed him with the adolescence of royalty. The keys to doors once unlocked to swing abreast. Carefully tapered grass and fields would now receive another who married the Queen down to the very pound itself in agreement to the terms required to piece her.
Once entertained by youth in its entirety, the pleasure therein now fell to his waist’s lows without request nor interest. This was surely the past. Fortune including the mysteries of a life he once new was in dire need of a detective or counsel willing to represent it. Who but would dare take his case? Distress gained distress atop the hill without effort, terror or trail. The sight of witnesses seeing grace fell faint. Mirrors of his once perfect image lay broken and un-abridged. …
His preempted solicitations of self had eluded him at a snails pace. The very place near his side was vacant. Ease garnered the most of his core. Sages that once led his reaches of opportunity had been reduced to a mere shoulder’s shrug. That very same motion now had multiplied itself beyond normal figures of mathematics, unless you considered calculus. These things would factuate themselves into everything stone and counted. Even pebbles. Who shall dare to say that none of these possess the power to weighthemselves through glass, disrupting its original form, alone or in numbers when thrown. The scorecard to this seasons game had gone a bat. Rescheduling it would prang in mannerisms low beneath the plate without swinging, but who was staying the pitchers mound? Was it a discerning shadow of his entire self or was the bending lights fraction now an integer.
What he called legs could be considered as such, as they performed their stated task ingeniously. Far away from applause or even chatter. He chuckled. Legs he thought. Fested be they to the hip and even in shortness of length. He could only lay claim on leaves that were closest to his arm’s reach. He would have no say on its branches nor lean against barks without first watering the ground. Was he more fertile than his neighbor? Would the bells that once sounded there be missing or broken?
He had come to stop to stand, positioning his corpus lecti to the store front. Its infinite structure returned the ills of his nonconformity and cast the very shape he knew, quite like a twin, Though this coin toss would be anything other than free. His reflection unfamiliar to laws now break the displays in a store`s lay, momentarily trespassing. What was the store clerk saying, he thought. Worrying if her screams of complaint be embellished in the heads of staff, her colleagues, return customers, or the custodial service known to end at the hours end, ending without parraging time or losing it. The mops they carry run abreast of multiple structures had yet to engage themselves in water. Seemingly unaware of the chemicals that would alter its collective strength to whiskers.
Cedric had seen the courts before. Though, one sided at best. He had revied the things he had often lived before pculiars of familiar lights would rally them all. Thus, casing the festivities to set amongst them the elements required for this recurring while pollitely exclusing the sun. He marvelled this. A slow cadance of chatter and the sliding and clacking of pints raising placed upon the wooded rounds which was most oftenaccompanied by the crunching of whicket mounds, though these were salted. It was not carried but shaded by a beerman who shouls have concerned himself with pits. As he tallied the evenings wealth, he wondered how he could raise the bars that filled them without suspect and be ended in its value and transform it into more. To do this he would need the finesse of a brothels stage, without the woman. Breaded or baked, served they were now cold and not one man concidered its ingredients. Then would be he who questioned salt for spilling or ratherspill more? After all, it was free.
It was a place where men to came to rebel all other things unlike him. It was a place where he could be unnamed, undivided, and at at times, anonymous. If was as if their unisexual behavior was without sex. Their behaviors above human. The deeds themselves were unwelcomed for they were not needed here. It was a time far before the digital revolution and a time where very few things analog were noticed. They content to spills, lyric and tales of adventure. Here he was everything in this place. True or untrue, once told, stories released from the mind breathed life into a room filled with those of the same seed however garnished. Fruit or vegatables or weeds leave the safety of the earth and its covenant were now living amongst all and not one. However far fetched or short no one man could challenge that of any others. The proof wieghed itself in brick only in a scales witness. Though they all had none. None of them were butchers, welders or even saints. They were outside of prayer. The Bibles which stood for them laid anothers man table, resting in his home or quarters folded closed from cover to cover. Their unread words were still written. They heeded no one in numbers. Spreading themselves to become chapters in verses and vice versa. Which mans ink would spills beyond a covers spread and leave stains. Clearly no data would be collectec or stored here. It would be used instantly to form a bridge between their ears and sound them.
The earths seasons were without reference. They were taxed, labeled and barreled . It was not summer and there would be no reason to cut the grass. The floors were wooded like copperstone. They had been equally darkened long after the guests who filled had left their seats,the pavement and even the city. No one waited. The wind, waits neither for any other condition to settle or spin it. It moves whenever, stays wherever. No man can tame the wind nor should he try to. (he shall be carried. Should he go against it, it will shovel him.)
Cedric had been most places. Small, tall, wide, and even narrow. He had been in those places indeed. Expended paces he had many left, some of them right. Often scattered and unmarked themselves. He had been everywhere indeed, though no one would ever find traces. He had travelled to and through all of them masking his face with the shadows. He could cater to them in numbers. There would be no prints left on corners, countertops, shelves or stairs after he touched them. Forensic authorities nor scientists would find him, nor would they desire to search. He was of no importance at all. He had not yet committed any crime or considered such. His journey, however far, would cost him nothing more than braincells. He was a master traveller. He could bare what he had known and not less.
Pennyless in wealth he stood so why would he scurrage any more than dollars. Even if they had more weight than pounds or equal.,their currencies avoided him. He had been trading them for quilts. He only wished to. Far above his perception, he faired lower. These heights were good. He had never been higher than or near others. Complacency became him to the letter. He would feed the world stamps and record them sticking. Or used.
The earth in all of it, would stand still for him to adore peacefully to himself and stop spinning. Most probably not. It was of great ridicule to him to even consider its rotation without any knowledge of its axis or algebra, the time of the year and its weight. Far more spectacular than the entire space between the stars. Unbelievable to living things exceeding the sun in distance. What would warm him now?
The theaters he adored more than the cinemas that played or housed them still. He would be the noisy one. The ticket that cost him, the most of all he had, was free. He would pocket it too early and miss the film in its entirety. He was at recess when no one else was playing.
His vision had been widened beyond the things he had once sighted. His courage once rivaled all things above the wind and below it. Amassed had he the hearts all of men and women, in circles, though he was better known to the dead as those who had preceded. Scolded was he in the sun, though it was not against him. Its poise had never gaged him rightfully. It appeared to had left him the same color. He had not darkened against it. It could also be said that he too had noticed. The walls echoed his verse in chains and mimicked his misguided intellect. He was unaware that some could bathe in the very rays of the sun and conquer them. This was never due to magic or waving but merely due to his genealogical standing. This served him rite and remembered him.
As the season slowly came to pass, the streets, as paved as they were, would not savor it. For without memory, brain or blood it cannot live within or feel it. This would be left to the living. The trees above it all, were taller than most things, though they never be forgotten, however silently they behave or how often their leaves be shed. Their importance was more than any wealth accumulated , tended or cumbered. Far greater things would be required on his journey, though they would cost him no more than each pace he took and any air he would consume.