{ Tragic Honesty }
Have you ever been abandoned? Why do you think you were left behind? – Thomas from @harriedwritings

Fingers drum against the smooth surface of the desk before him, a steady cadence in an otherwise unsteady environment. The clock that turns against the wall is the only counter to the beat, even the breathing of the two people occupying the room seeming to be frozen between the soft disturbances against an intense sort of silence. 

A long intake of breath seems to echo in surroundings not built for such cavernous acoustics, and the answer, when it comes, feels almost inconsistent with the tension built by the ceaseless drumming. “I believe we have all experienced abandonment in our lives, through one form or another.” A tone as unreadable as the note was neutral, the drumming came to a notable stop. In the lingering silence the clock seemed to thunder, the minute hand locking into place just above the three – 

“For me, I would say my experiences were born of convenience.” A pause as the time turns itself back, thoughts lingering in the distant past. The minute hand dips another notch. “Some things are easier buried than they are borne – this is a fact of our society, cobbled together as it is by the laws of convention.” Spoken with conviction, yes, but lacking something fundamental for words offered with such collected dismissal. There’s another dip, the slightest of clicks as hands fold to obscure lips, but do nothing to dim the storm behind blue eyes. 

“Some things – are easier to fight for when they are ideas as opposed to realities that come with consequences. Yes,” At last, a hint of emotion, hissed through clenched teeth unseen behind the clasping fingers, “I have been abandoned – and I submit to the fact that it was convenience that made it so. All who stood for me – they did so in ways that served their needs best – and for that, I cannot fault them.”

The three was cut cleanly in half as the final portion fell into place. Understanding did not, by extension, encourage forgiveness. It was, simply, an awareness of the situation and an acceptance of bitter truths – but it was not, in and of itself, a slate wiped clean through acknowledgement of impossible circumstances. 

The hands fell, the clock ticked, the final truth revealed in it’s coldest simplicity. “I made of myself a target – and in so doing I made my own existence untenable in the eyes of friend and foe alike. I made it impossible for my convictions to be ignored – and that recklessness in turn secured the end for me. All men are disposable – and I made it easy to bury my voice, in the end. My abandonment, then, is crafted by no surer hands than my own.”