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Fantasiestück in A Major
A Flight of the Imagination in Three Movements
by Bud Webster
Andante: The Truth
Once there was a man who saw truth and was compelled to speak it. A great gift,
you might think, but it's a terrible thing to always know the truth, and to have to
He wasn't very smart; he wasn't handsome or witty; he wasn't possessed of a great
personality. All he was, in fact, was dull and mundane.
That, and someone who saw truth and had to tell it.
Because of this, he had no friends, and few acquaintances -- fortunate, since he
saw through the dissembling that friendship makes necessary. This made him sad
in the way that rain makes a fish wet: in such an ocean of sadness, who notices a
few more drops?
He began normally. He was born, diapered, and weaned. But when he learned to
talk, his life changed forever.
His mother tickled him to make him laugh and said, "You're Mother's little angel
sent straight from Heaven!" He would shake his head and say "Mother, there is no
heaven." And his mother, dismayed and disturbed, sent him out to play.
His father would tousle his hair and say in gruff good humor, "Whose little man
are you?" and the boy would answer, "I belong to Mother and the man next door."
Shocked and hurt, his father turned from the boy who wasn't his son.
In school, he angered his teachers by saying "Columbus maimed the Indians who
would not bring him gold," and "George Washington despised his mother." This
was the truth, but legend is far easier to teach, and so his teachers reviled him.
Likewise, he horrified churchmen. "Your priests have been murderers and
thieves," he said to them, "and your bibles composed of myths and hearsay.
Whole civilizations have been wiped out in the names of your gods." And so they
cursed him and sent him away.