My thoughts drifted back to the poisoning incident. About ten minutes had passed. I found myself calculating—imagining the couple dying exactly one hour after the waitress had spoken. The thought was probably incorrect. Definitely heartless.
Remorse and guilt made a futile attempt to invade my heart. My thoughts repelled the attack with utmost ferocity: This has nothing to do with me. Pure coincidence. The world is a place of coincidence—luck and misfortune, fortune and disaster. It is about being in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time.
While I was thinking, the bearded kid spoke—contradicting my thoughts entirely.
"You see, your stubborn mind generated bad fortune for them. A murderer!"
He made a colossal mistake. One thing I hated deeply was being called stubborn. It was they—the people of the world, the majority—who were stubborn. They clung to senseless beliefs and ignored truths supported by evidence.
I shoved a tomato into my mouth, crushed it instantly, drank the juice, then swallowed the remains. It was my way of preventing the outburst that usually gave birth to rash and impulsive responses.
Afterward, I picked up the fork and knife—both silver—and sliced another tomato in half, escorting it into my mouth. Only then did I notice that the utensils looked like they had taken from Caligula's table. Everything in the restaurant seemed off.
Three men sat at the corner—the last table of the last row—wearing dark, faded twentieth-century suits. One of them held an old-fashioned black-and-white newspaper. On the same row, at the first table, sat two men—one of them Arab . I found no issue with his Afghan-style turban. His clear glasses, outlined in shimmering electric blue, had the sleek perfection of advanced electronics. That didn't disturb me either. I owned AI glasses myself.
My suspicion came from his mesh-fiber robe. With every movement, faint light coursed across its surface, illuminating the fabric like a living circuit.
After two minutes of eating, my temper settled. By then, the bearded kid may have incorrectly assumed I had accepted defeat.
"You are quite skilled at accusations," I said. "You might make a determined yet utterly useless prosecutor."
It wasn't meant as a compliment, nor was it meant to cause irreparable damage.
"Nobody is accusing anybody," he replied. "I'm just stating facts."
"It would require concrete evidence to convert your accusations into facts," I said.
He grimaced.
"Prove I caused their poisoning."
"A proof?" His beard-framed mouth curled into a sneer. "Hell, you're insane."
"You're the insane one!" I snapped. "You keep making accusations you know have no evidence. Worse, you convince yourself they're facts. Many myths and beliefs that you people cherish are senseless."
hold are senseless!"
"Careful with your mouth, kid." The voice came from behind me. The speaker might be either the priest or the dark suit man. I turned around while the speaker-the dark suit man-issued the following warning; "You may bring a curse upon yourself.
"Is there such a thing as a curse?" I demanded, stunning both the dark suit man and the priest.
"Good God, what's with kids these days?" the dark-suited man exclaimed, shifting his gaze from me to the priest.
The priest chuckled.
"He's an atheist," the priest said, before turning to me. "You don't believe in God, do you?"
"Definitely!" the bearded kid yelled. "It's because scientists haven't been able to find any evidence of God's existence. Man, God is a spiritual and supernatural being."
I glanced from the priest to the bearded kid and said nothing. I was glad he had realized how much I valued evidence. While adjusting my beanie, I shifted in my seat to face the priest directly and rested my arms across the top of the chair.
Meanwhile, I calmed myself and carefully constructed a lengthy response—one that satisfied me completely.