"JUST AN ILLUSION"
A short story by Arve Tunstad 29.11.04
Ray took a walk down to the pub last sunday. He had heard that some of his friends were there. And their best friends too.
There was a party inside. He could hear the music and the sing-a-long. There was something familiar with this. He had heard it before, in a little green village not far from here. Where people were happy and he was just Ray, the boy, hearing his father's voice singing in joy from the pub across the street.
He was about to open the door, but hesitated: If he walked in there, these pictures would disappear - the song would fade, and he would no longer be just Ray on a sunday walk to see if anybody was there.
So he stands at the door for a while, then carefully knocks. Nobody hears him, so he knocks harder.
There comes Bill.
- Is John here? Ray asks.
- Yes, come in, you are freezing.
- No, no. Please don't bother for me. I don't want to interrupt. Just wanna see John. It won't take long.
Here comes John.
But what is there to talk about? He had no message for John at all. This knocking on the door was really only about pictures, and John couldn't give him that. Neither could the others who now appeared in the doorway.
Suddenly the music stops, people inside are not singing anymore. Instead he can hear them talking, shouting, craving.
The pictures are gone, the illusion is broken. He resigns. Ray is no longer only Ray.
So he does what they tell him, walks inside and disrupts the party.
- No pictures! Bill shouts.
But we don't want to hear that. It's our pictures. We own them - not Ray.