Clouds Don't Bleed - Ch. 4

Mindless individuals in town talked about the storyteller the day after. About how great he was, and deep, and what they expected. I hated them, and the fish that they ordered at the tavern.

“He really spoke to what my life should be like,” one quacked throughout the day.

“I’m so sorry.” I lied through my smile, as if to say, “Let me get you some new orange juice and a towel.”

“Not a problem,” he also lied with a laugh, brushing off his newly pressed pants, as if to say, “These are just some old pants.”

The rest of the day was the same, and Darla didn’t say much about my clumsiness onto the table near a customer’s lap. She probably would have done the same thing if she was the waitress rather than the cook. I know she would have. She hates people almost, but not quite, as much as me.

Every single customer that came lied about how much they liked the storyteller, even if they weren’t there (which I would know if they were), or what meaning they saw in the story (which there was none). It made me eat my lunch quite a few times during the day at how disgustingly obvious their lies were. Especially the bastards that think they’re doing something for the world by lying.

“It’s not that impressive.”

Except him.

“It really is though.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“Then you didn’t see it.”

“Ah, but I did.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do.”

“Here’s your juice.”

“Thanks. Did you see him?”

“Yes. I hate him.”

I didn’t even spill his juice. Only the second one that day. He didn’t seem to be the kind of human being that would really care if they got a splash of orange juice on his pants though. He left a large tip, which forced me to remember his face.

Nubae had the day off, and I found him on the hill after work. The grass was still as soft as ever. Dry enough that it didn’t get your clothes wet, and moist enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable to lie down on. It even made that beautiful sound when the wind rolls across the tops of the blades. The leaves on the tree made the same sound, but I can only dream about what lying on a tree full of leaves feels like. I usually imagine that it feels like I’m floating in the ocean. Except that the branches in the tree would be smaller pinnacles attached to a much larger pinnacle. And sometimes there’s a turtle lying down at the base of it all, and enjoying the general splendor of the view.

I took my shoes and socks off as I walked quietly over to where Nubae was breathing with his arms to his side. I lied down with my head in my arms.

There were only a few clouds, and they were small. They had beautiful swirls and curves to them, but nevertheless small.

I can’t really tell when Nubae’s asleep. I always assume that he is though. If he’s still enough for me to wonder if he’s asleep, I figure he must be, but I still don’t really know the difference.

“You look dead.” I picked a leaf off his face.

He smiled. “Understandably. I feel dead.”

I sat up to watch the clouds roll in where the forest starts, and he leaned on his arm to face me, but his eyes went past. A screen of glass and leather separated his forehead from my lips, and eyelashes separated his eyes from my gaze. He seemed to be watching something, but I didn’t turn to even look.

“I wish I knew what to do.”

“I know. The only fun thing to do is watch storytellers, and that’s not fun at all.”

Nubae breathed out quickly, like a laugh. He lied on his back again for a few seconds, and then stood up. And then he smiled and lied again.