A religious zealot, hand-lettered sign on a stick. Make ye your soul be cleansed. Filthy robe. Ragged sandals. The zealot gesticulates awkwardly and chants in a secret language. Man or woman, impossible to determine. What brought the zealot here today. What inner voice provided direction. Where will the voice tell the zealot to go next. Will the voice provide instructions for a new sign to match the new destination. Will the words be as stilted and archaic.
The zealot waves at the bright morning sky and smiles inexplicably. Who did this person used to be before going mad. Where was this person’s family. Isn’t there someone out there to keep a leash on him. If it is a him. If it makes any difference once you lose your mind.