The Devout

This one did not strain.
This one did not flee.

He sat perfectly still, palms pressed together, posture immaculate -
as if immobility itself were proof of progress.

The space around him was carefully preserved.
Pillars upheld the idea of permanence.
Silence reinforced the illusion of completion.

The traveller felt the pull immediately.
Here was a place where movement stopped hurting.
Where effort could be reframed as unnecessary.

Only when he stood closer did he see what had been given up.

The chest was hollow.
The stillness had not healed the wound -
it had learned to exist around it.

He understood then that some states of mind do not demand obedience.
They demand recognition - and refusal.