When I was a kid, there was a man on the hill.

He would not talk and would not leave, relentlessly screaming at the wind.
One day I came up to him, climbing the fences and slipping by the trees.
I raised my arm and I asked: Why, on God’s green Earth, are you screaming at the wind?
He did not turn around, he did not look at me.
After a few minutes of wondering, I eventually mimicked him.
And all those kids who will come after me, they will chant and they will sing

The tale of the two men on the hill.

*


Over here! Come closer, for I will tell you my secret.

I have been thinking about it for quite some time now. I ran it in and around my mind longer than I ever thought I would live, although that is not a secret.

I must keep my thoughts straight, otherwise you will not understand. But information must be balanced thoroughly. Too little, and you start to lose interest. Too much, you will soon realize the game was rigged since the beginning, and that the beginning was not really what it appeared to be in the first place, that there is a trick inside a trick, like a twisted Russian doll. Camera is rolling. Are you ready? Are you ready?
You seem lost. Read me again.

This is an equation with several unknown factors, and you are one of them. You do not know neither who I am nor where I write those words. I’d like to tell you that you will, but that’d be lying, wouldn’t it?

I don’t know, perhaps I am underestimating you. Perhaps you already found the place, although I doubt that to be honest. You have got to fight for it. It is important because the place determines the scale, and that is key.
Don’t you understand? Read me again.

Perhaps you know too much already, perhaps you know the secret? No, it is impossible. You hold the map but lack the path. You don’t know where you’re going and still here you are, hoping that somehow, I will spill everything. It’s fine to have faith. I don’t, not anymore. I’m just an overthinker, a simple man, a node in this constellation of millions of other nodes just like I, assuming that because they hold such an important piece of information, they matter. Them fools. If the node disconnects itself, the information finds a way to fill the gap up again, because it has never been about the nodes, nor the constellation, nor anything else but the information. That, I don’t have but a piece of it, like a small slice of orange cake, just enough to keep you going, that, I do.

Sometimes I stare at the ceiling and feel it bursting inside me. There are nights where I fantasize my chest ripping itself open, my ribs letting go of their hold, that the secret, at least my part of it, one of the 73, would storm out of my heart and my lungs like a blood flood, too powerful and too opaque for you to analyze it drop by drop.
Don’t you understand? Read me again.

Rain is knocking on my window like a relentless ghost. Nature is haunting, nature is hunting. Shit I am writing those words and it is still October, drops have not yet turned into flakes, nor the White Carpet has covered the garden’s grounds with its soft yet merciless fall.
Something is off. Can you feel it?

Ahoy, you will find the path because I cannot afford to lose you once more. Don’t you get it? Fuck, did I write too prompt again? Something has changed. October is too soon in the process. Am I early or is it you who are running late? There’s no way one could understand.

Time is a tricky enemy. I know how to fight it, but I need to be certain of your worth, my friend. How come, might you ask? Move closer, I have made us some tea.
Look, my hands are empty. Continue reading.

I know, this is not the format you were waiting for, no. This one is special, this one is a test. May you pass it, I will prove the others wrong. We will show them all together, unless you fail to read this thoroughly... And we will all be back to nothingness. Again.
Don’t you get it? Read that again.

I’ve got to stop this tendency of mine to reveal the trick. At first you will love me for it, then you will spit your disgrace on my face, as you will soon come to the realization that my spillage was a bigger waste than it appeared to be at first sight, and you will start to hate me, hate the entire constellation as well as the information itself because of a simple node. You will then shred it all into a fact, a stupid anecdote, I once read a story led by a read thread, and that will be the end of it all. I cannot let that happen. Too many beautiful flowers for you to see.

Now, I know what you might think of me and of those words.
Because He who saw God’s red Thread shall remain misunderstood.
Because His path is better followed by the blind than by the bold.
Because my name is Danny,
Because I know where Malo is hiding.

Will you follow me?

*

When I was a kid, there were two men on the hill.

They would not talk and would not leave, relentlessly screaming at the wind.
One day I came up to them, climbing the fences and slipping by the trees.
I raised my arm and I asked: Why, on God’s green Earth, are you screaming at the wind?
They did not turn around, they did not look at me.
After a few minutes of wondering, I eventually mimicked them.
And all those kids who will come after me, they will chant and they will sing

The tale of the three men on the hill.