Brief

So that’s the guy. And he writes non-sense things that no one can reads, but him. He was shot, but he’s not dead – how’s that even possible? And he was laid down on the floor, then he stood up and said out loud a four-letter-word that made everyone around him laugh, because there’s no joke today more despicable than love. And the reason is that when you make fun of something you fear it less. That’s also why he needed to shout it and he urged that every single person listen to it: but they were deaf and they just knew laughing and mocking and acting like automats. In the afternoon, he burst into tears and his mourning was even louder than his yell, although it hasn’t being able to wake up the deep-sleepers, which was everybody. He claimed for God and asked in clear voice why do they have to suffer, why is their hearts turning into ashes, and God Himself didn’t answer, because He is not allowed to, but at this very moment a noisy and shiny thunder blared; the man heard it and understood: it was a choice of theirs. Only when the sky appeared to be blacker than bluer, the song of stars started to play, and at first, it was almost unlistenable, a long after it was the single sound that could be heard by all living beings. It was sad and blue and deeply melancholic, but the man felt peace inside him, though he failed to guess how was that possible. The man alone, the magician, the wanderer, the first one, he was alive, in a world of graves, and he wasn’t capable of remembering the taste of her kiss – but she, like everybody else, lied under grass and flowers and mementos. And so, with no mercy, he blacked-out his inside sun, once the stars’ lullaby have taken it all and he realized that it’d be so exhausting to live like this, without the warmth of her lips, without a soul to fill his skull. One more time, he shouted the word and each one of the four letters stabbed him – four places: forehead, throat, heart and navel. Silence. The angel beside him flew away. And that’s the end.