Started work on a new short story:
Forgive me reader to be so blunt: the man was smart. An apt test of his intelligence quotient had not been devised; any question that could be deduced logically by man he could answer, and no riddle, machination, or scheme could he not himself envision.
He was visiting an insane asylum to find out truth beyond his means, and so the dialogue follows between this man and the prophet. He finds the prophet sitting nude upon the tile floor of the shower room, the white, impersonal towel hanging over his head like a shawl. Though the face was hid, the wise-man had no trouble discerning his quarry: this was the first sane man he had seen.
Little things, imperceptible to mere human intellect, our wise-man parsed in a moment: the movement of the body was clean and fluid, the stench of blind pharmacy was not upon him, and this man breathed like a sane man, the wise-man could hear it. And were it not for all of these, shortly the naked man made himself known:
“Friend John whom I’ve now met, whose coming I foreknew ere he discovered me.”
The wisest man in the world kept silent at this salute, but with careful steps came face to towel with the sane madman.
“It has not been revealed to me how you will die; the court adjudicates.”
Now here, nearly alien to John for how long ago he had last felt it—the first time being his birth, where he discovered that the comfortable warm soup he had been living in was not his permanent abode, that he should join the voices and lights outside his small world, and the only other time before this when at the age of two he deduced where babies came from and what mom and dad were up to—he could not help but let his staple poker-face falter a moment.
Tale Told 