The Adventures Of John B : The Sacred Stone

Part 7 - Sacred Silence

SIDENOTE: The song may not fit the chapter, it's just the inspiration for the chapter name.

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I could feel my body sink into the comfortable chair.

I was in a plane.  Flying through the sky.

Four rows of seats could be seen in the portion of the plane where we were seated.

A table separated the two facing seats in each side of each row.

The chair I sat in was made of white leather, adorned by a set of buttons on the right hand side.

The aisle in the middle, decorated by a black carpet, held two employees who were handing out a selection of snacks.

I gently placed my arm on the armrest, and repeatedly shut and opened my eyes to test if this was a dream.

We would receive any payment we'd like for riding this plane?

Luxury. 

I leaned my head back and cheekily smiled.

No one has treated me like this in a long time.

A light chatter filled the room, accompanied by a distant hum.

I looked forward to see a small boy.

In his hands was a turtle.  Not too big or small.  Just small enough to fit in his hat, I'd say.

His eyebrows were furrowed, even as he tried to sleep.

His face was a ghostly white, no doubt a symptom of his fears or unfamiliarity of planes. He keep shifting his body, entangled in vines of fear and hurt.

He opened one eye to survey his surroundings, revealing the brownish - green eyes that had once hid beneath his eyelids

Like a forest.  Branches upon branches of information, curiosity, and unrelenting desires.  As he turned his head, a new glimmer of emotion arose, flaunting yet another intricate pattern of that dense gathering that had yet to be discovered.   Such versatile creatures and plants thrived in the welcoming dark green of his gentle eyes.  But they were burdened by a turmoil of great anguish and pain. 

Those eyes.  So perturbed.  Disturbed because of what they have seen. And the things that haven't been seen; the things that have been left to destructive imagination.

Stubby lashes lined the edge of his eyelids.

His ruffled, black hair stuck out from his blue baseball cap as if it were trying to escape the corruptive demons that hid within.  His ears abruptly jutted out from his small baby face.  As he subconsciously pursed his lips, deep dimples appeared, similar to that of a depression in a pillow.   Thick eyebrows stood above his wide eyes.

Unlike many of the others there, something about him seemed different.  As if he were still holding on to that last bit of hope, desperately trying not to fall.

But I've already fallen.  Alone in this pit. 

He caught me staring and tilted his head in suspicion.

"Oh- uh.. sorry." I apologized to the boy.

Was I really sorry though?  I've trapped all of my emotions in a bottle I will never open.  So, it isn't possible for me to be sorry.  Or somber.  Or afraid.

But it's not like I was ever allowed to be.

It's not like it was a choice.

It's just habit.