We Were Restless Things

17. Terror of the Faithful

"You want to destroy everyone.

You can't understand it

until you experienced it"

~ Penthouse

𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗♞𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗

The study was bathed in a silvery silhouette thanks to the faint moonlight that was visible in the summertime air. Its light illuminated silver-framed paintings, neatly arranged bookcases, and a big mahogany table. The smoke from the lit Cuban cigar steadily filled the space.

Zaroon stared into the magnanimous lawn stretched along from the padded chair. A gentle breeze from the balcony played against the soft cream curtains, sometimes obscuring the view. While the right hand holds the cigar well away from the lips, the fingers of the left hand are drawn along the rim of the bourbon glass, dripping light condensation as the summer heat melts the caramel-brown liquid ice.

His mind, on the other hand, was on a different spectrum. It kept oscillating between time and space. He had once heard or read somewhere that the present is the future we couldn't think of in the past. As he cocked his head to accept one reel from his memory, a dry chuckle escaped into the night.

"But isn't it quite dry of her to say it?"

The persistent drizzle and dark clouds were still over London. Cold raindrops, runny noses, and swearing were quite typical on the street as people went past.

His gaze peered out to the crowd as he leant against the glass wall of the phone booth. The streets were painted in a colour pallet of red, grey, black, beige, blue, and green. Moving color palette of people.

-are you even listening to me?", her voice was laced with annoyance as she looked sternly at him.

A wistful smile spread across his lips as he continued to see the painting on the London canvas. "Last time I checked, you weren't in that Literature course. But, yes, I am listening."

"Zaroon," a little whine came from her as she hit him with one weak punch on his arm, gaining his chuckle. "But, saying 'Gatsby' being a realistic love story is so dry, man. It just shows love brings doom and selfishness is a woman's virtue. Like come on!" Annoyance was clearly visible as her cheek grew red from the blood rushing. Her hands were trying hard to part away the wet strands of hair from her face and view. Yet, it only increased her annoyance as they tangled.

"What she meant was illusion and reality is a deadly combination," his fingertips, cold with frosty air, touched her locks as they were pushed gently aside. Her eyes were locked on his face while his shining orbs were focused just on his task.

"What Gatsby showed is that sometimes the illusion of achieving love or 'happily-ever-after' blinds a man to reality. It made him oblivious to Daisy's domineering behaviour and her preference for maintaining a high status over finding true love. It showed the cruelty of the world. That not every fairy tale has a happy ending; others are merely supposed to be fantasies. But above all-" he leaned into her bewildered face while pulling the final lock away from her face. Her eyes soon resembled the mirror that reflected his image. Like the space between them, which was filled with their breaths, he had a warm sensation from within.

"-it was time that was the villain. Time, controlled by others, put chains on their thoughts, time, controlled by others, pushed Gatsby to be 'grand', time, once again, controlled by others, made Daisy choose stability and lastly it was time that killed Gatsby and his illusions of love."