Fool.

There was the man on his knees. Called a king of fools, discarded and tortured in the face of his purity. Only, if they knew that true malice is never born, but created over time. Did you not realize how you can turn compassion into sharp razors? They said once patience was a virtue to admire, yet now it would prove their own downfall. Pain proceeded compliance to all. Hidden hearts crumbled from his stand. There was not even a shadow of who he once was. He took a walk so somber in which the people shivered away from his sight. To them it seemed impossible to see the fool become something more. Desperation traveled to each of their lips. They thrust their precious jewel which caused his public imprisonment in front of the man. He was not very tall at all. She towered over him easily, but something about the way he was today made giants into ants. She was about to speak with such elegant poison. The man closed in to the side of her face sad a few words unheard and moved away from her. She fell behind him almost aging rapidly thereafter. The people all looked at him strangely, the shackles of their intent have faded away and he was someone else. He rose his hand once and said this softly, “I lost my virtue of silence, now be crushed by the gravity of the truth.”

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