The Silent Pass

I lean up against the wall in complete darkness.  To my left silently stands a man in his mid twenties:  His shadowy figure leans up against the same wall inches from my shoulder but so quiet I cannot even hear him breathe.  To my right is another man in his mid twenties but he is holding his girlfriend and whispering a song into her ear as they constantly move around in their playful game of try-to-kiss-me.  Their whispering echoes off the dark walls and cobblestone as hundreds of people wait in the narrow street.  At the end of the road I see flickering lights: the short flames of candles.  Tall men dressed in black robes lurk in their procession, some barefoot, without a footstep being heard. Their faces are covered by black cloth as well with two small holes for their eyes.  It reaches up into the night sky in the shape of a tall and thin black cone.  Dozens of these black shadows float in their procession guided by the faint light of their candles.  Further down I can see more light and a figure illuminated by a float of candles.  A tall wooden post stands in the middle covered by a dying figure.  His hands are nailed into another piece of wood horizontally attached to the one in the middle that stands surrounded by candle sticks that curve and fall like four golden willow trees.  I can see the pain in his face and the blood on his body as his figure sways back and forth on the golden float slowly down the street.  Incense fills the air along with the soft sound of a clarinet breaking through the night sky.  The shuffling of feet echo through the street as the huddled group of men -hidden by the velvet cloth of the float- carry the massive image on their shoulders.   It passes by inches from my face.  This mammoth float towers over me and I can only look up at the dying man, smell the incense, and hear the melancholy music break through the silence of the night.