Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
As the mid afternoon Sun took its ascendancy in an otherwise grey sky Oscar Wilde staggered into a tavern. The great writer was looking the worse for wear after having put the "deca" into decadence, with ten straight nights of drunken revelry behind him, he had finally crashed and the hangover which plagued his fertile brain seemed more important right at that moment, than anything particularly earnest.
The pub was sparsely populated, an old man was sleeping, his head near a low hanging lantern and two men were laughing amongst themselves in the corner. Slumping down on the counter Oscar Wilde barked a drink order startling the bartender. This tavern worker was more accustomed to an elegant Wilde requesting a drink with no less than his customary lingual guile. This flat shout would win the great orator no fans. "You feeling alright Mr. Wilde?" the barkeep inquired, a note of quiet worry in his voice. Wilde let out an unintelligible wheeze in reply before burying his head in his palms. "What is wrong?" the barman asked, all social niceties dropping away as his concern mounted. "Today...my good barkeep. I just wish to play the game of silence. I have no insights, no pithy observation, just the black oblivion of closing my eyes to ward off the aches in my head." Just then, two customers that were off in the corner of the bar perked up upon recognising WIlde. The first man loudly posed the question to his compatriot. "It's that fella aint it? The witty writer. Tell him your story Gus" "Ha, yes. I'd love to know what an innalectual like him would say about it." They bounded over to the bowed Wilde with great enthusiasm, Jack giving him a mighty slap on the back as he neared. "Ozcar Wilde aint ya? I know a face when I see it." Wilde raised his head slightly, a disinterested look greeting the pair. "Gentleman..." Jack interrupted. "My friend here Gus, he's got a good story about the local constabulary courting one of them actors dressed as a lady. He stole from the big nosed fella, you know the one in books. Leonardo De Bergerac is it...?"
"Cyrano, " the barkeep corrected, his gaze still downward on a glass he was wiping. "Tell him the story Gus!!" "Gentleman," Wilde cleared his throat. "Let me stop you right there. I do not wish to be made aware of the wandering eye of a Policeman nor the gender confusion he suffered upon his wooing. I do not wish to hear of a crooked Judge absconding with a grey squirrel or whatever fanciful tales you wish me to comment upon. All I crave is the calm of a quiet pub and the ceasing of the the loud music in my brain. This is but a modest request for solitude." The pair were silent for a moment. Gus began, "So you see, this local officer has a flair for the ladies, well most of the time he does. But see with this..."
Wilde let out a groan.
The barman took no notice of the story and directly addressed Oscar. "But the wall my good sir". He motioned to the back wall of the bar which had much writing upon it. "I know, barkeep," Wilde replied his voice a soft rumble. "My witticisms dot that wall and have kept me in much fine ale over the seasons but today will have to pass without a sip from that fount. I am bereft of the muse. She has left me." Jack chimed in. "The muse has gone, left him for someone who a-muses her!" He left out a great chuckle at this, happy with his half stab at a quip. "Put that on you wall." "The wall isn't for quotes adjacent to Oscar Wilde! It's for quotes from the great man!" Gus replied. "Well look at him. He's in no fit state to be wise. So we're going to fill in." "Oh Posterity, how she weeps." said Wilde, his face buried in his hands once again. Gus and Jack began to look around and were mumbling. "Something hum'erus, something funny..." "Oh! Oh! The wife, the other day was complaining about a candlestick and I says to her, I says, sometimes love you really get on my wick." There was no response from the barkeep or the writer. "Yeah, yeah," Jack continued, "But still you carry a torch for her!" They stood began beaming at their impromptu double act. "This wit stuff is easy," Jack declared. "Somewhere my good gentleman, in some crotty attic, there hang portraits of you getting progressively more irritating."
"Well sorry Ossie," Gus retorted. "We're just trying to liven up an otherwise dull day." They slumped back to their corner seats, deflated at the poor response their antics had garnered. The barkeep leaned in. "You're going to lose your streak though. You have never darkened the doors of this establishment without spinning some words to wisdom." Wilde spoke up. "Streaks are like...windows...I mean...Comets. Streaks are...Streaks are...arrrgh". The barkeep sighed. "Well I need to put something up there." Wilde was becoming incensed."Put nothing. Put silence." Disheartened, the barkeep looked around for some ink to add something to the quotes wall. Finding only a golden yellowy ink his son had used to colour in a picture of the Sun, he took it to the wall and flatly wrote: On this, the 15th Day of the Month October, Silence- Oscar Wilde. The barman walked back behind the bar and began busying himself. WIlde eyed up his handiwork and muttered "Hmm, Silence is golden". There came the faint sound of the cracking of a lantern followed by a loud shriek as the sleeping old man returned to consciousness with the top of his head ablaze! A badly corked champagne bottle behind the barman slipped falling at an angle and began soaking Oscar and the barkeep. The local constabulary, who had a big enough nose himself it must be said, fell in the door of the tavern, his arms around an obviously male person dolled up to pass as a woman. They both fell to the floor. Suddenly a noise came from a less that reputable boudoir upstairs and an entire bedding structure crashed through the roof of the tavern, landing square in the room with a mighty thud. It was a local politician in bed with what seemed like, four pigs. Gus, Jack and the barman all looked at Wilde to note this unusual set of circumstances which had occurred all around them. Wilde just stared with a mouth agape, his hair getting wetter and bubblier from the still spraying champagne. Gus nudged Jack looking to the new bed in the room. "I hate it when our politicians just farm things out like that." Writers note: Obviously this is not the etymology of the famous "Silence is Golden" phrase but I like to think that even when he said nothing at all Oscar Wilde still provided plenty of gold!
i feel like i'm the only person who gets so so lonely to the point their anti-social but like they so want to talk to someone or have someone come over so they can just sit with someone else in silence. like i just got so lonely in the space of five minutes of my mother being rude to me and now i'm sitting here and all i want is a hug and to be able to be silent with someone. i want to fall asleep but wake up and someone will be there and we can just be quiet but together. thats what i need right now...i wish someone could provide that...