The Boy Without A Name

Chapter Eight

"You cannot be serious, grey eyes." The stranger exclaimed, shaking his head just to ridicule Emmett's theory.

"It is the truth, do you think it to be otherwise?" Emmett questioned, eyeing his determined stance.

"I do not know for sure but I think that it could be, from what you have just told me. Yet, I believe it to be nonsensical, after all, not everything can be controlled by some destiny." The stranger smiled as he toyed with the strings of his guitar.

"I absolutely agree, but I think it to be a rather misleading legend. Fables are fabricated in such a way that it would seem for destiny to have an upper hand, to be the sorcerer magically turning up things to a notch because this is how we are led to function."

"I don't understand."

"We need to have a faith, a belief on something ethereal and otherworldly to coexist with others. It is as simple as eating an apple, there is not a right or a wrong way to eat, is there? But we still feel this indecipherable need to follow along some footprints left on the sands of time simply because that is just how we have been raised, I apologise if it doesn't make any sense, I am not that good with interactions."

"No, no, it's quite understandable, mate. But co-existence surely surpasses destiny, does it not? Why would you think it to be something uncommon and otherworldly if it is, in fact, a humanly feeling? It's all very confusing, eh?"

"Yes, that's interestingly another fact that thwarts the reputation of many, who would rather believe in something unnatural, just to fit in well with the masses but keep this in mind that people cannot always fathom the reality as it is, they need to concoct it into a sweet elixir that befits their expectations, deprives them of their dejections, and relieves them of their overpowering sensations. It is a goal, you see, they need to strengthen their alliance with their faith, that everything is but the gameplay set in motion by some eternal power and destiny, in a way, is what completes this notion."

"Glorious! You have some charming thoughts, lad, I am quite impressed." The stranger praised him.

"It is nothing, surely you can do better than me." Emmett commented, whilst staring ahead.

"And what makes you think that I could?" He asked, interested in knowing his answer.

"Well...I don't know, it seems that you can do much better than me, to be honest." Emmett admitted quietly.

"For someone as mature and wise as you, grey eyes, you certainly are doubtful and oblivious to the talents you seem to possess. I have quite noticed the way you look down upon yourself as if you are nothing but a measly insect to be trodden upon whenever and howsoever preferred. It is not an attractive trait, I assure you." He observed, his scrutinising gaze fiercely penetrating through Emmett as if determined to prove to him his iniquity.

"I cannot possibly provide an answer to that." Emmett mumbled out.

"And why not?"

"Because...there really is no place for me in this world."

"So? It shouldn't matter."

"You..you don't understand. I am an outcast, a gipsy gist of a dreary story, an inconspicuous being tenuous, a bloody clutter in a trashcan, it's difficult being different and I hate it, I absolutely loathe it." Emmett was in hysterics by the end of his speech.

"You know what your problem is, grey eyes? You over assume too much. Perfectionism is something that you ought to bring in yourself but you seem to forget your capacity, whilst pushing yourself farther. There is only so much that is left in us of the universe that we can push through, the rest cannot possibly be handled let alone by a boy of your stupor."