A Prelude to Silence

Though I am posting A Prelude to Silence in November of 2018, it was initially written in June of 2015, before college. This has sat as an unspoken (ironically speaking) third part to the Novelette, and after rediscovering it, I figure… “Eh, why not?”

As a further note, after three and a half years of life events and God working His unfathomable plan, I will say that there are certain views about future spouse stuff and guy-girl relationships that have changed in my mind, but I am thankful that the heart of what this Novellete speaks of remains unchanged. The characters as well retain their shimmer and connection to my heart and dreams.

Take from this what you will, as will I.

The theater was silent, and rows upon rows of empty seats faced a pair of closed curtains on the stage. Meanwhile, a peculiar draft swayed the curtains ever so slightly, creating somewhat of a haunting presence. It was completely dark in the theater, until, at the sound of a click, followed by a faint reeling sound, streams of light began to escape from between the two curtains as they retreated to opposite sides of the theater, revealing a black, empty stage lit up by the many lights above.

After this ghost-like commotion had come to a conclusion, two pairs of footsteps could be heard coming from the backstage. These reverberating footsteps grew louder and louder until a young man and young woman appeared from the shadows. They slowly strolled across the illuminated stage, coming to a  stop at the front, and with an aura of nervous reflection, faced the empty seats. The air was still, yet perfumed with the aroma of confusion, and both had many things to say, yet were at a loss for words.

“I-..” started young man, letting out a quavering exhale, “I wanted to say goodbye.” He lowered his head, knowing that this was the right thing to do, and the young woman, taking a discreet glance to her left, linked her fingers together in shyness. A moment or two passed while she tried to collect her thoughts, and though she already knew the answer to the following question, she asked, “This won’t happen again?” “No,” he replied, shaking his bowed head. He paused to inhale a shallow breath, knowing the Divine Providence of such an occasion. “It wasn’t for me to decide.” The young woman lowered her gaze, pursing her lips. With a solemn composure of gracefulness, he looked up and to his right, gently smiled, and softly spoke the words, “Thank you.” The young woman turned to her left and smiled back.

The look in his eyes seemed to hold a thousand words, yet he had sufficed to say an unspoken farewell. And so with a humble nod, she turned towards the backstage and began walking to the exit door. However, with every step that she took, the distances in between grew smaller and smaller. She could tell that there was so much he wanted to say, but didn’t say anything; as though he had a grand explanation, but took up the sacrifice of keeping silent.

Sluggishly approaching the outskirts of the backstage, she came to a halt, internally crumbling under such ambiguity. In a most disoriented manner, she quickly turned around to speak, but before a single word could leave her mouth, a cold wave of anguish overwhelmed her. The stage was completely bare, and all that was to be seen in the distance were the silhouettes of empty seats. Yet at the exact spot where he had never stood, there laid an envelope with her name on it. For a brief moment she paused, staring at it with uncertainty, but none the less, she walked towards the front of the stage and gently picked it up. She opened it with delicate fingers, tenderly pulling out the piece of paper, and carefully unfolding it. It read a few, simple words, but they warmed her heart with encouragement, and they said all that needed to be said.

Beneath those few words, however, whether she noticed it or not, there was a subtle undertone. And within such a hidden concept, there was a certain principle to be realized, which is this: just as music does not always consist of sound, but the absence thereof, so does a play on stage. Just because no one is speaking or revealing their identity, does not mean the actors have missed their cues. It does not mean the Director made a mistake, nor does it mean the plot-line has become stagnant.

And although she stands alone in a vacant theater, it does not mean that the play has not already begun. For even though the audience has yet to arrive, the Director has been busy at work, preparing and producing a masterpiece that will echo through time, whether in the world’s knowledge or simply a humble family’s legacy, but certainly in the faith-full archives of heaven. For now, however, He only asks that His two main characters (aside from the Lead Role) seek Him with all that they are, and focus on the scene at hand.

Even so, the paths have been crossed, but not yet intertwined. The costumes have been sown, but not yet worn. The set has been built, but not yet placed. The lines have been scripted, but not yet said. The blocking has been directed, but not yet done. And the cast has been chosen, but not yet realized.

As for her, she only need enjoy the show,
Because God’s plans will move mountains.
The following scenes are of seeking the Lord,

And as for the young man, well…
Silence can speak louder than words.

Exert force here to read on – the novelette continues…

Professional Punting

“I tried to catch fog the other day, but mist..”

Why did the scarecrow get a raise? Because he was outstanding in his field.

“You stole my Microsoft Word?! You’ll pay, I tell you! You have my Word!”

“Did you hear about the kidnapping at school?!” “Oh, it’s okay. He woke up.”

“I know a guy who’s addicted to break fluid, but he says he can stop anytime.”

How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it.

“I stayed up all night to see where the sun went, and then it dawned on me..”

“I’m reading a book about anti-gravity! I can’t put it down.”

“I saw a theatrical performance about puns. It was a play on words.”

“At first they thought my blood type was Type A, but it was a typo.”

“The girl said she recognized me from the vegetarian club, but I’ve never met herbivore.”

“The class trip to the Coca-Cola Factory was awesome! I just hope there’s no pop quiz.”

The Energizer Bunny was arrested: charged for battery..

“At first I didn’t like my beard, but then it grew on me.”

What do you call a dinosaur with an extensive vocabulary? A thesaurus.

What does a clock do when it’s hungry? It goes back four seconds.

“I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger, and then it hit me..”

Broken pencils are pointless.

What do you call an alligator in a vest? An investigator.

“Sir, it’s the Pentagon..” “The Pentagon?! What is it?!” “It’s a shape with five sides and five angles, but that’s not important right now!”

“Ma’am, it’s the hospital..” “The hospital?! What is it?!” “It’s a place where they put sick people, but that’s not important right now!”

Why are fish bad tennis players? They don’t like getting close to the net.


The mountaineer that climbs the heights

Must always face a test:
To reach for a rock and slip,
And fall down from the crest.

And staring up from down below,

The mountaineer must choose:
Dare the mountaineer give up?
Or to defeat refuse?

For down below the second time

Defines the mountaineer.
How the mountaineer goes on
Reveals the true heart clear.

And staring up from down below,

The mountaineer holds fast.
The mountaineer presses on.
The past is but the past.

So taking hold of rock on rock

And climbing to the heights,
The mountaineer will climb by day
And through the darkest nights.

For had the mountaineer gave up,

No mountaineer was there.
For every mountaineer climbs on
Through ease and defeat’s glare.

It’s Okay to Cry

Once upon a time..

There was a joyous night:
A night filled with many tears,
Largely from one young man.

This night marked a season’s end,
Yet also marked a season’s beginning.
It was the culmination of nine weeks:
A look back and a look forward alike.

This young man had promised himself, “No tears.”
He had promised all of his close friends, “No tears.”
He had laughed his way through highschool graduation,
So really, why would he ever cry over this graduation?

But as a backstory, he had always been ashamed of his tears.
He had grown up with a disposition to cry over good reasons,
Yet those good reasons had a way of striking fear into him:
Fear that his tears were an offense and travesty to behold.

None the less, on this final, concluding night, names were given,
And all his close friends were likened unto brave heroes of the past.
So after spending nine weeks with such men, being given so accurate names,
“What name could possibly be given to someone like.. uh, me? Seriously!”

Yet strangely, being likened unto a weeping prophet somehow clicked;
As if his prayer closet got a tip of the hat and a secret hand shake.
Meanwhile, all of heaven smiled as he burst into excessive tears.
Because his Father, after all those years, gently whispered,

“My son, it’s okay to cry..”