-Fabrics of Happiness

[Words to Image. These are the words this image said to write. So, I did. Enjoy]

Ichthus felt no happiness. Day in and day out he wished for the morning to never wake him.

'It might be easier,' he thought.

The sun offered nothing for him to enjoy. The moon shared no pleasures, either. Everything between these two measurements of a day felt empty and pointless to him. He hadn't smiled in so long, he couldn't remember how. But he wondered.

By trade, he used to amuse the tourist by guessing their futures for the dollar. He spoke with authority, certainty, and fooled them all. Over time, he began to hate his lies and as each paying guess left, it tore away the mental fibers of anything good within him. He became negative and bitter, hating his own voice. It only spoke in lies and misery. Eventually, no one came to hear their readings. His vibe had destroyed his mind and his dollar. He was now broken and lost.

In an attempt to return to grandeur, he began to collect images of happiness and laughter, anything that held to the opposite end of his spectrum. He transferred these images to fabric, painting them as he collected, with pencils, pens, paints, and even Crayons, and then sewed them all together. He would then drape them across the windows to block out the light. He hung the collages around the room to surround himself with their smiles, in an attempt to, hopefully, remember how to imitate their happiness. He tried but failed. The more he collected, the more he tried, and more he failed. Eventually, there were no bare walls for him to look at. Every inch held a cloth smile. Yet, he still struggled to form one of his own. It didn't work.

In a rage of anger, he tore down every image and piled them up in a heap, center room, as high as he was tall. He stared at the mess, all laughing at him in his inability to reverse the arch of his own mouth. He spat on them all and set them ablaze.

As he watched the fabrics burn, their smiles blackened. He didn't seem to care when the fire ventured past the pile and ignited the hard wood floor. He watched it inch outwards, following it closely as it reached the walls. Now, they wore the same color, reds and yellows and oranges. They flickered and danced, as if mocking him, as well. He hated them for it.

The walls soon convinced the ceiling to join in their taunting and eventually the whole room bullied him. The heat grew hotter and his eyes felt the need to tighten. They hurt.

He thought to himself, 'Perhaps today is the day my sadness ends. Perhaps, today is the day I'lI no longer attempt to smile. Perhaps, today is the day I am free from me. As soon as the fabrics stop smiling and the walls and ceiling stop taunting me, I will be free.'

So, he waited.

Everything burnt to the ground. The faces were gone. The walls no longer stood. And the ceiling had fallen. But it was nowhere to be seen. It, too, had disappeared after the smoke had subsided.

And Ichthus ...

-TO BE CONTINUED-

[1st, swear (out loud), ask "THAT'S IT?!", and then keep reading]

... as the flames reached Ichthus and he closed both eyes to embrace his freedom, he decided to make one final attempt to form a smile. He scrunched his face tight and felt something happening near the corners of his mouth but couldn't quite raise them. Just before the flicker touched his garment, he called out for help. Help, to smile before he died.

[You have a lifetime to help someone smile before they die. Will you? Start now. Start with this story. Start with Ichthus. Smile and then move on and share one with someone else. It could make the difference between life and death. 🙂]