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Alarmingly Strange Stories At The Gates by Dan Ericsson |
| "Come on, friend, let's go in. Forget the other people." The expression on the man's face told him that he had been wrong. The man was not a rogue visionary on the outskirts of society, but that he was a missionary, a pillar of the church. He was here to pull Fillmore into the sweet comfort of confirmation. "Why? What's inside that door? Is it better than what we've got right here?" The priest's gospel rolled of his practiced tongue. "We've got enough right here. Security, stability, comfort." Fillmore wanted to scream in anger at the depression the man pressed on him. He remained calm, and his voice only betrayed his fierce bemusement at the cynicism of a people so unused to curiosity. "Why not just see what's inside the door? If it's so terrible, you can come back out." "If you want to go in, you can. We're not going to stop you." At this, the man looked back to the crowd. He seemed to be weakening the longer he stayed away from it. "Maybe I will…" Fillmore looked up at the panorama of people spread out before him. He saw unity, a single mind. But, more importantly, he made a reassessment. What he had previously labeled depression was a lack of upheaval. Neither good nor bad. He felt the comfort, realized that it felt good to be accepted by a group, any group. He looked for the man, but didn't see him. Lifting up his eyes, they fell on a rather pretty girl at the edges of the crowd. He assumed she was about his age. He knew nothing about her, yet he felt that he could learn to love her. For no other reason than that everyone in the crowd loved somebody. It would feel good to be a part of something, Fillmore thought. "Maybe I'll go tomorrow," he said to the wind. He left the door behind him, making a mental note to go tomorrow. Tonight he was going to go through the motions, to be liked by everybody simply because he was like everybody. |
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