the father of communication by chris. the father of communication sat down beside me and crossed his legs. he sat there staring at me for a while, a look of disappointment on his face, no doubt. i didn't acknowledge him. "what's the matter with you?" he finally asked, wiping his thumb across his nose. he kept his eyes on me. "what do you mean?" i kept my head down, staring at my book. "i mean, what's the matter with you?" he said. he clenched one of his fists when he said this and gritted his teeth. i remained silent. "you can't talk to people. you can't converse. how do you expect to survive? with your brain?" he let out a short laugh. "yes, your brain. it's your brain isn't it? you think you're really something, don't you?" for the first time i looked up at him. he was a skeleton. the father of communication had been dead quite a long time. all his flesh had been eaten away, so that all that was left was long dirty grey hair, bones, of course, and a tattered brown suit. i was taken aback for a moment at the sight of the skeleton, but continued in as much a normal fashion as possible. "i don't know what gave you this impression," i said. "but i believe you're wrong." i went back to my book. "wrong? wrong?! i've been sitting here listening to you talk to yourself like a fool. you can't even keep yourself interested, much less any other human being." he unfolded his legs and leaned forward a little, looking all around us. "i don't see a single soul here except yourself! you've bored them all to death! nobody wants to converse with someone who has not even remotely grasped the art, ART, of communication!" "you don't know what you're talking about," i said, pretending to read my book. "what?" a woman asked. she had passed in front of me during my last statement. my eyes widened and darted about my book. "uh," i said. i looked up at her. "nothing. nothing, i thought i was...no. i was talking to someone else." she looked around us. "who were you talking to?" she asked. "the father of communication." i pointed to the seat beside me, but when i looked he was gone. "the father of communication is dead," she said. "yeah, i know. he uh...i got confused." "if he's dead, he cannot speak," she said. she left me. "my point is proven," said the father of communication, sitting back down. he leaned back with a conceited grin and chuckle that he's always giving me. i turned to the next page. "you've proven nothing."

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