The Beginning of the End

The wise fool uttered through his palms covering his distraught face. His words muffled as he spoke, “It’s the beginning of the end.”

"We will see," The blind man pondered in prospect. His mind may have been old, but his spirit was young. After all, his eyes were blind not his faith.

The wise fool lifted his heavy head from the palm of his hands. His expression changed from troubled to stubborn. He wanted to believe that hope was astray. How would you know? The question lingered on his tongue, waiting to escape his mouth. Instead, he answered with, "But the moment we are born, we begin to die."

The mute man’s forehead appeared to have creases and wrinkles. His eyebrows drew together into a deep furrow. Confusion settled in his grey eyes. He chimed in and questioned, "Are you claiming that we live just to die?"

A long sigh fell from the wise fool’s lips. "Maybe so, but I could be letting my emotions get to me.” He confessed.  

"The best way to preserve a secret is to wrap it up in frankness." The mute told the wise fool.

Concern flooded his eyes; showing weakness is not a path he wants to take. He thought for a while and decided to proceed to announce, "I suppose I'm afraid. . . I feel like a shadow; free, yet hidden in the darkness."

The blind man found the situation to be a travesty. “Look all around you. Don't you see that cowards die many times before their death?" He disclosed.

"Are you calling me a coward?" The wise fool snapped.

"He doesn't have to. Listen to the silence,” The deaf man declared. "And only then you'll encounter internal noise."