The ascension uphill was unexpectedly steep as the two had been walking up flights of long stairs, only to be led to another. It was almost noon and the two had begun to sweat through their first layer of clothing. The sun has yet to touch its’ sky ceiling and there was much to explore around Lyon.
They settled down on one of the concrete stairs and sat on its’ greyish dullness, it was sufficient although they hoped for somewhere such as a foldable chair on a porch of a café or renowned premise. It felt snobbish, but Cay thought France has such capacity to accommodate people tied to the term’s context, even if the two were not snobbish. More accurately, he was purely looking for a comfortable place to sit down and stare at the flowing pedestrians. Their way of traveling meant that they could not be allowed such luxury of money and time.
Croix-Rousse was a long way up through hilly pavements and nearly-uncountable number of stairs. They have been tempted to board a public bus to there before, had they not been continuously convinced by the scenery from a higher ground. Their first proper glimpse of the city was when they took their jackets off just after the foot of the hill. They took in what was an attribute of a described French city by book and by mouth of others, it looked even better in real life: residential houses aggregating into several groups with a jagged surface on top, these shapeless objects were only divided by brock lanes.
They felt accomplish with every flight of stairs conquered, the mass of their front legs sore and their minds blurred from enduring climbs. Each scenery refreshed their minds as they took in fresh air and natural pictures inviting to the eyes. They were uncertain of the people, but the only assured comfort was from the organic feeling of being in an enjoyable city. Lyon had its’ own style of architecture, a different facade of beauty. They wish their journeys to other cities would be like how they felt about then.
“Not such a bad climb, yeah?”, Asked Judas, while panting heavily.
They just reached a medium-size tree just after reaching one of the high points.
“Agree.”, Cay breathed heavily and gulped a mouthful of water from his plastic bottle before continuing to gasp for more air. He was less fit than his companion.
“How much longer before we’re there?”, mentioning the place of stay.
“Around fifty minutes, as said on the GPS. I few keep it up.”, Cay was sure that they would not reach there within an hour.
“Alright, five minutes’ break and that’s it.”
“Agree, we only have three days here.”, Cay half-nodded.
The two deposited their belongings taken out earlier and continued into a street filled with shops that they regularly saw back in England. A centre of activity had always been a primary though in everyone’s mind, it was only universal to have the convenience of pharmacies, bakeries, as well as stores selling miscellaneous products on display on a street. Or in that case, “high” street (“Bloody mountainous.” Was how Cay described the huge rise in steepness leading to the first available shop).
Some of the interiors as seen in the French cafes on the street were tempting to be examined from the inside, they pushed on without lingering too long for fear of walking into one. Their foreheads forming beads of sweat and their shirts damped and half-transparent from perspiration, but they felt at ease knowing they were somewhere among the locals. They were not far from their accommodation.
*
Judas Greyson Marshal overheard what his parents had said while in the kitchen on a Sunday evening, dinner was thus moved slightly behind schedule as her mother called out from downstairs fifteen minutes late. Perhaps she was informing everyone, not specifically to Judas, that the roast was ready.
As he was descending through the stairs, the memory from that night surfaced in his mind. “Judas, come back!” was the loudest he heard from his mother since a long time ago, he rarely heard her mentioning his name. It left a mark in him, imprinting itself in his head amidst all the confusion and struggle welled up inside. He kept his cool and continued walking.
He could not meet their parents gaze, something felt unusual. He had already familiarised himself with the unsettling quietness within the house, he did not feel comfortable with the new change of tension happening in the dining room. They looked the same, but something in the atmosphere suggested else. The confinement was almost physically choking, his parents trained their eyes on him, his mother’s mouth quiver, struggling to contain the words she was trying hard not to blurt out.
He sat down in a routine way that people could remember it without difficulty, it was a simple motion forgotten by the very few. Sink and shoved, simplicity at its’ best. Had not the world been like that for the past few decades?
During recent times, men and women strove for simplicity in a complex system that they had built from generations of old. It was a layering phenomenon, we learnt and incorporated the past into the present just so we could build the future better. The old that did not require consideration was dismantled, disposed while the rest was useful--- Polished and fit into a mechanic suitable by today’s standards. Whether it was advanced concrete used to raise skyscrapers or well-proportioned water jet utilized to wash our anuses, we strove to make everything and anything better than the last.
Judas’s simple motion was just another produce of the world today, influenced by strong variables of the outside. Sometimes, not everyone could follow the natural instructions laid in front of them. Hence, rebellions arose and dictators dictate their own future: They would not compromise themselves to the outside forces, they must bend fate to their will. The victims were just by-products of the administration by the rebellious and the unfaithful, godliness was what the latter two aimed but in their own definition of divinity.
He was caught in the path of destruction by the unwilling that took form of an oppressive government, hi sheer will robbed at the time of slaughter. He was both lucky and unfortunate to be alive. He sat there, seemingly motionless, while Alexandre placed all the plates of food onto the rectangular wooden table.
“Judas, son.”, Haze broke the silence, his wife looked up towards him, then her son.
Judas only raised his eyes to meet his father, who had never spoken in such a tone since his teenage years.
“Care to talk to us about something?”, her mother added, with Haze sitting rigidly on his chair and laying his left hand on her lower back. She stood, looking as if sitting down would break the flow of whatever was pivoting itself to.
“No. Please, don’t ask.”, he answered both of his parents with such a tone that both could feel the confusion and sadness coming out from those few words. Their son really had changed over the past months, and they have not adapted themselves to his loud silence yet.
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