“The importance lies not in liking or disliking something, but in why you do so. After all, many can like the stars, but it takes a certain someone to hate them with vengeance as yours,” said the man in red shirt.
“I think to dwell deep on such things is like trying to dig a hole in the ocean water. No matter how sharp your nails are, it gets you nowhere. All you should do is do what you want. To think, to ponder, to dwell, to seep through the whole process is for masochists,” argued the bearded man who was wearing what once must have been a white shirt. He couldn’t help but snicker at his friend’s remark on his hatred for stars.
“Take this rose for instance,” said the first man in red shirt, as he plucked a flower from the shrub nearby, “Do I adore the fragrance because it is after all a rose, no less. Or do I love the rose because of the way it enchants my sense of identifying it from stinking corpse flowers? Does it not matter and I should gift it to someone I love, without putting this thought into it?”
The second man in tattered white shirt bent to smell their object of discussion.
“For all I know you could have just splashed a few drops of perfume on a plastic flower,” he replied, “but it doesn’t take away the essence as long as you don’t start validating the reason for picking what you picked…..” With those words the bearded man in white shreds stood up with the support of a stick. “It’s time for me to go. We will meet again tomorrow.”
“You still won’t tell me, why you hate the stars so much that you took away your own eyes?” said the man in red shirt and supported him, “How could you? Why did you?”
“To hate is important. The ‘Why’ is for masochists, which I’m clearly not,” said the blind man in white rags as he stooped and searched for something with his hands.
“Here,” said the man in red shirt and handed him his begging bowl. He dropped two coins before the blind beggar walked away.
The man in the red shirt threw away the paper rose and took out the small package from his jacket’s pocket. He stared at it with stoned eyes for about three seconds before hiding it back inside. He walked away slowly to plant the bomb in the heart of the city.
The ‘Why’ is for masochists, he repeated to convince himself.