There was a reason silence spread in the room: There really was nothing to talk about. This council was not convened on its strength of resolving issues, nor on custom or tradition. This was an emergency. This was a council meant to discuss urgent matters long forgotten.
The room was large. The old tapestry was revealing -- revealing damp walls stained with droplets of brown mud. It was badly positioned too; one could see the patterns being superimposed with little subtlety or taste for perfection. Of course, there was also a table. To its left side was a large window. The landscape behind the dark and dusty curtain was painted. It wasn't real. It was a painting of a disfigured forest in dark red and green. There wasn't much of a point in this, but perhaps it helped the members of the council focus on the absent matters at hand.
'The first matter of the day is...'
Silence erupted, shattering the brief noise of announcement. Then, a second disharmony: a council member coughed without permission. Everyone turned their heads and looked at him. He straightened his tie and with a silent gulp pretended to re-concentrate on the conversation.
Looking at the ceiling, one could tell that this was a very high room. Stretching hundreds of miles above them was a painting of a starry sky. The thick paint, corroded by the eternal rains outside, was causing the trees on the window to defoliate. An imaginary breeze swayed them back and forth. Silence.
'The first matter of the day is...'
The council convened on daily basis. And it was always for matters they could not remember. Matters known and seeking solution were always postponed. It was the fear of matters unknown that hastened the room with a visceral air of urgency. Yet, matters forgotten -- regardless of how pressing or important they might be -- were impossible discuss.
On days like this, silence could go on for hours on end. An occasional cough, a sneeze; sometimes the loud voice of the minute-keeper would remind the rest that the first matter had not yet been discussed. What was the first matter of the day?
'The first matter of the day is...'
No one could remember.
Behind them and slightly to the left, the fireplace was going cold. It was always going cold, because it's fire was also, like the window and the ceiling, painted. It was a simple painting of charred coals -- barely keeping a dying fire going. It was a reminder for everyone in the room that they had better remember something before freezing in this doorless chamber.
'I remember now!'
Who dared break the silence this time? What kind of deluded sycophant believes in memory of things forgotten? The council members looked at each other with suspicious eyes. Anyone could have done it, but no one took the blame. Outside the window the trees were looking ominous. Disfigured. In dark red and green.
The window burst open, and a silent breeze crept in.
On the table, someone painted a picture of the warming sun.
But it surely wasn't enough.
This short story was written and edited in August 2011.
This original work by Amadeus In Denial is licensed under a Creative Commons (Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike 3.0) License. All work created 2006-2011.
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