Circle through words

“Circles are such cruel oddities.” The man whispered. His companion looked amused. 

He raised his brow. “Are they?" 

“Indeed they are.” Circles were twists of fate. Something that should have never touched the plane of this world. They had no start, no end. Only an endless cycle of which each of its victims would never be able to escape. It was awfully dreadful. The man’s mouth filled with bile each time it crossed his mind. 

“Oh friend. Perhaps we have been so absorbed in the materials of this world that we have forgotten the viscous nature of it all.” His comrade’s smile no longer had the same mirthless touch to it. The corners fell down much like his heavy chest. The two reached the empty bench where they had met daily for the past few years. 

The air was fresh, yet it was difficult to breathe with the growing lump in their throat. The once sweet scent of flowers was replaced with the rotting smell of fallen fruits. The usually vibrant tint of the leaves had faded away and saged, as if the cold wind had swept through them and taken its life along. The sun’s glow dampened just enough to make it noticeable. Even the harmonious chirps of the hummingbirds quietened with their footsteps.

They took their seats opposite each other, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, to battle off the cold in the spring. One brown-eyed man, who had been through more than his presence gave away, stared at the pools of blue opposing him. 

He sipped his coffee in silence before he sighed and looked deep into the soul of his mate, who was still safe from the suffering he would undoubtedly receive. 

“Dorian, have you not studied history? Surely you past realize that history can only repeat itself. The past is the present, the present is the future, and the future is the past. There is no escape in this circle we call life.” 

A word remained unspoken; it hung heavy in the atmosphere. Except death. Dorian took a moment to process this, scratching his stubbly chin—true it was. But not entirely. That logic worked in theory; however, it truly held plenty of flaws. Every time something was repeated, a tiny thing was altered. It would never be exactly the same. It could never be a true circle, for the path would always lead astray. Until one day, when so much of the original has been changed, there would be no resemblance. The circle would be unraveled into one line. 

“I suppose,” Dorian approached warily. “But we evolve. You see, Richard, if life was that savage circle you claim it to be, then how could we have this?" He stretched his arms out wide, pointing to the surroundings they had built. “This didn’t exist last time. We learned, and we created this. Circles are cruel, you say. Sure. But life is not a circle.” 

Richard did not speak. Though it was evident that all light had left his dark eyes. He stared straight ahead, looking at Dorian, looking past him. But he gazed forward hopelessly as he chugged down the rest of his drink. 

When he finished, his calloused hands rubbed at the weary rings under his eyes. Richard was visibly tired. Not just physically, but mentally, weighed down by the burdans of his past. He looked as if he wanted to give up, as if he were prisoner to something that should be one of the most beautiful in the world. 

Dorian was unable to comprehend the words Richard was speaking without misinterpreting or simplifying things to make it easier to swallow.  And Richard would never be able to convey the true message of his intent properly with the limited resources of words. 

Words would always get lost in translation, and so long as it continued, then the two would continue to go back and forth. Perhaps that was what Richard meant by a circle. 

This time, when Dorian spoke, he spoke while genuinely trying his best to see things through his companions eyes.  ”Maybe you are right. But at this point in time, words cannot express the complexity of circles without betraying their authentic core. We shall have to pick this up next time, Richard. When enough words have been invented for you to explain to me circles.” 

There was not an ounce of faith left in Richard. How could Dorian not understand? The concept was simple enough, yet there had once been a time, far too long ago, where he had been in Dorian’s shoes. Richard cursed himself. How dare he believe he could have put a stop to this cycle? It was a futile attempt. 

The emotions, the meaning of circles—those were the only tins he found could not be captured through words.

“I am very sorry, Dorian,” Richard choked out; he had not enough resolve to look Dorian in the eye. “For I have failed at my duty. A time will come when you will understand, and it is with utmost sincerity that I apologize for not being able to protect you from the future. I can only hope that you were rightand that in the centuries to come, you will find the right words to explain my nemesis.”

At that point in the circle of time, Dorian did not understand. It was uncertain if he ever would. But even so, Dorain would feel the weight of the words, and he would carry it until it was his turn on the opposite side of the chair, meeting a new face and reciting the same message. The only difference would be his choice of words. 

The sun set off over the horizon, the moon taking its place. Now, Dorain could not see anything without seeing the circles. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time. 

When Richard packed up his things and left, Dorain did not attempt to stop him. Richard was done, and if he wanted to escape, Dorian would not hold him back. 

It would be a few hundred years late before Dorian understood. They would sit on a weathered wooden bench, its slats stained with memories by the countless people who had sat there before them, watching the world go by without the ability to do anything about it. He would whisper to the next victim to be entrapped in the circle’s cycle of suffering.

Many new words and languages had been invented. Dorian used this to his advantage. He had come up with a script and revised it ten times over until he was sure that there would be no such miscommunication as last time. Almost everything had been changed, save for its purpose and a particularly poignant sentence.

Dorian faced Blythe—he wished that his name would hold true and spoke.

“Circles are such cruel oddities.”