mirevolver

A man once came through this village. He came alone and without a horse or donkey. Instead he carried his burden in a sack slung over his shoulder. It was raining that night and we were celebrating for it was a sign that the drought had ended.

In through the heavy rain he walked. As he entered the tavern, we all noticed. The joyous music stopped and we turned to look at the door. His hat and clothes were drenched from the falling sheets of water he had walked through along his way. His boots carried the mud of the roads he had traveled. It was a mud so thick it seemed to weigh his every step as he trudged through our tavern towards a table in the corner. His face was weathered as though the rain had carved out every wrinkle on its surface.

Somewhere along his walk toward the table he stopped and looked around the room. “Please, there is no need to halt your joyous occasion on my account.” He spoke in a deep rasping voice.

He continued on toward the table and unloaded the large sack slung across his back. Slowly, he exerted what seemed to be the last of his strength as he sat. He took off his hat and placed it on the full sack he had carried in. His stringy white hair wrapped around the back of his skull from ear to ear. He set his hands on the table and locked them together and simply stared at the empty table space in front of his hands.

One of the barmaids came to his table and asked him what he would like. “All I ask for is a meal, a drink and a place to spend the night. That is all I have need for.” He replied as reached into a pocked and placed some gold coins on the table.

He resumed his posture staring at the table until the tavern owner came to him with his meal and drink. He informed the stranger that there was a room upstairs available for nightly rent. The man slid the stack of coins over to the owner and began to eat his meal.

We continued our fest and danced as he ate. Those of us that noticed saw that he ate slowly and paused to enjoy every bite he took as if it was going to be his last. After he had finished, he looked up from the table and watched the festival around him. At some point, a tear fell from his left eye and his lips pulled tight almost into a smile. For a time it seemed as though the look in his eyes grew distant as he perhaps thought of an earlier time in his life.

After the night had pressed on some, he slowly stood from his table and grabbed the hat and sack next to him. He pulled from his already spent energy as he hiked across the room and climbed the stairs.

We danced and sang and drank on until the night was at its end. And when we left the tavern to go to our homes and our beds, an odd thing occurred. We pushed into the wall of rain outside and from the stranger’s window above we heard a maniacal laugher which slowly transformed into sobbing.

The next morning, we watched as the man left our village. On his way out he turned to us and said, “Grab every opportunity to follow your desires. For to not do so is the gravest mistake you can ever make. Heed my warning or your regrets will haunt you for the rest of your lives.”

And with that he turned and disappeared into the fog and rain never to be seen again.

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Aside from my great plans to become the future dictator of the moon, I have little interest in political discussions.