What a moment…when reality and fiction meet at the inevitable momentous arena of decision…more amazingly when office and function clash on impact before the priority trail of the spectacle of the Nations. You neither want to be caught in the cross fire, nor appear on the wrong side of the equation. It is the ultimate litmus test, when fine-tuned distinctions must be made within the scale, such as exists between Fear and Faith…
The Major issue almost always has company: The Minor issue! These two have such inseparable illicit attraction for each other that presents catalyst and poison respectively where destiny is concerned…such a nerve-wracking affair! Common sense of course knows better, yet the fine-tuned distinction between the two devoted foes has nothing to do with common sense. In the frailty of humanity, more often than not overshadowing discernment, it is not uncommon to switch the two in prominence. Minor becomes elevated, magnified and ultimately blown out of proportion as it has better of the human faculties.
As the senior’s gaze narrowed on the loaded Martian’s hands, he was confronted with an unusual moment, one calling for something more than just knowledge: An experience. His mind raced in a desperate scan within his vast resource of knowledge for a template to evaluate the moment before him. He knew he did not have forever to get to the bottom of the matter. It was a paradox that brought familiarity and unfamiliarity on a neat head on collision.
It began to dawn on him with a growing sense of fright the more remote the possibility of finding a template became, the more lost he felt. He hated to admit the truth now painting itself at the face of the Martian litmus before him. Was it really true that at the core of his world view was a template foundation? Was he really at the mercies of templates? A hostage? He found himself in a desperate gasp for an experience. One part of him was repulsive of this notion because it threatened to drag him into fiction, yet under the circumstances it was the only chance he had left for a template to resolve the mystery. “Yet another template!” He hated to listen to his mind: “Templates!”
This was a moment of choice, not one of experience. It was an impromptu test of accountability demanding for office and function to be at perfect synchrony. Not even his sleeping partner was going to come in handy here. The seconds ticked away rapidly in a pattern bordering on gross insensitivity. There was no telling what was going to happen as the Martian drew next to him, the two identical violins firmly in his hands, the onus on him for a decision. It could have gone either way, but then he had a choice to make. And its moment had come.
The instant he made physical contact with his choice, the Invader’s face frowned as the room flooded with the chord of F-Minor. Great fear seized him. One small leap of faith and he would have been at F-Major. It would be one more year before he got a second chance at the naming ceremony. For the Trail was ineluctably blazing forth, right on schedule, with him on sight as its forerunner’s bearer…before all things. His eyes were beginning to open to a reality out there, one he strangely and ironically represented: Source and master template, knowledge and experience in marvelous divine blend on the exclusive scale of F-Major!
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