Silent Revelations
The Time Traveler's eyes glistened as he relayed the events of his future-travels. Despite the mussed hair, the unkempt facial hair, and the flecks of blood and dirt speckled on his cheeks, he looked rather alive, invigorated even. He continued to tear his steak into manageable bites, dipping them into the side of marinade, and shoving the meat into his gibbering mouth. A slight groan vibrated his vocal cords, and he murmured praise to God for such a carnal delight.
I, the Silent Man, watched his body language, knowing it told more tales than words ever could. His hands shook as he whispered about the Morlocks, as if they were an unsavory secret he was afraid to divulge. In ardor, he stretched his arms wide when he mentioned the monument of the sphinx. And he gripped onto his fork when he said her name—Weena.
His lips twitched as he spoke, and I knew he was holding back. Something happened there. Something tremendous. A fire blazed in his irises, the silent, but shivering, rage sliding beneath his skin. Diluted wine spat from his mouth as his adventure grew into legend. The stories, while wild and strange, caused such emotion to possess him. Could his words have truth? Lies never held such passion as this.
I traced around the buttons on my shirtsleeve and felt a thudding rhythm pounding against my thumb. The palace of green—a mausoleum for knowledge? Beads of sweat glistened on the Time Traveler's forehead and a single drop slid down his cheek, akin to a tear. A shudder rushed through my spine. How could civilization fall so very far?
It felt, all of a sudden, as though the Morlocks themselves scratched at my flesh, tearing at my heart. The Time Traveler's voice quavered, as though he was also assaulted. He spoke of the edge of humanity, the decay of the worldly empire. It seemed, after all of civilization's struggles, that beginnings crossed the ends.
I forced my eyes shut and focused on the pressure beneath my lids. "Carpe diem," I thought, "seize the day."