In the middle of the room, a wooden table stood heavily on the floor. With its silver body, it almost mistook itself for the moon.
A vase with four colourless flowers was placed in the center. All flours were bowing, showing honour and reverence to the majesty of time. Even their thorns have softened!
An ashtray next to the vase, bore traces of a dead phoenix. The phoenix vanished ages ago, but never rose from its ashes. Perhaps there was a natural fault in the makeup of its fate.
On the far right, a rusty sink was calling for help… whistling… with every drop of water.
Behind the table, a bar was erected, occupying almost all the free space in the room. Everything was half empty, half full. The bottles, the glasses, the shelves… as if the sinners had no time to complete their sins to perfection.
Up in the ceiling above the bar, a guitar was dangling. Like an illustration of an angelic prophecy, that once upon a time predicted the spread of music in the air.
But the truth is much more bitter!
It is said that a deaf man had once taken part of a public gathering, where a homeless bloke was playing the guitar. The deaf man was watching how the mass reacted. He bore witness to the crowd’s transformation brought by the musical performance. Smiles were shaping up, spreading contagiously from one face to the other, second after second, like a plague. He saw the silhouette of their souls rising in the form of colourful fumes. The deaf man was hit by a wave of loneliness and exclusion. The world around him was still silent, soundless, still… When the night had fallen down, the deaf man went back to that same spot when the music was dancing tango with the air. And like a vampire, like a soldier well trained to see through the dark, he stole the guitar. He ripped it off from its owner, and ran away. The next day, the guitar was seen hung to death above the bar. It had a note on it saying: “what difference would it make when I can’t hear its sound”?
The deaf man was never seen again.
Scared from the stillness of life!
Damn too scared from the immobile, the motionless…
What if dolls can speak a different language?
What if dolls can speak a language we simply cannot hear?