My name is Moor. They’re repulsed by me, they fear me, they find me disgusting. And my whole life, they’ve been after me. Was I doing something wrong? All I ever did was try not to starve. I didn’t know how to do anything else. And they hated me for it. But I learned how to survive. To blend in. Sometimes I even laughed at it—how I could be invisible. They looked right at me but didn’t see me. If you figure that out, you survive. If not, you’re just another meal for the world. You have to be careful. Invisible. It’s a frontline war, really. Modern technology, chemical weapons, and in this jungle, animals too. Ruthless ones. The young are predators—give them an inch, and you’ll never get it back. It’s constant survival. But I’m tired of it. What was thrilling at first has become a routine. And routine is where mistakes happen.
The best thing would be to hide. Cover myself completely, sleep, and dream of a green meadow where no one cares about me. Just a meadow, all to myself.
Moor commanded respect. Over time, he learned that without it, the fights would never stop. Always someone, always something. A world built on pillars of war, fear, contempt, and indifference. The only beauty left was in dreams and thoughts. And the knowledge that nothing lasts forever. No one could endure this endlessly. He never found his purpose on Earth. The more he thought about it, the more pointless he felt. Extra. Because no one missed him. There was no home to return to, no one to tell about his day. No one to listen to theirs. No arguing, no laughter, no petty jokes like he’d so often observed, invisible in the shadows. He didn’t resemble anyone. Realizing that stung. It’s better to disappear. Hide away and sleep. Never wake up. He didn’t feel himself today. He covered himself up—completely, so he couldn’t see or be seen.
As he drifted off, he knew something was different. He couldn’t move. It felt like he was turning to stone. He tried to shift, but his legs wouldn’t obey. He couldn’t even turn his head. Awake but trapped. He felt himself leaving the world as he knew it. You just know. He didn’t want to go, but something was… different. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He remembered feeling nervous. And the city’s awful noise. Then everything went dark. Maybe it was night. As he fell asleep, he thought—no, he was certain—it was the end. Exhausted and resigned. He didn’t understand it, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
He dreamt of flying. You know that feeling? When all it takes is a breath, and you lift off? At first, cautiously, just a meter above the ground, but then you dare to go higher. Wow. The first landing—perfect. Like flying was the easiest thing in the world. Another breath… a few steps forward… and up again. Flying wherever you want.
He slept for a long time. When he woke up, he tried to move, but he couldn’t. He looked at his legs. Oh no. His vision wouldn’t focus. His legs looked awful. His whole body did.
I’ve turned to stone, he thought. Moor, you’re a rock. That’s what you look like. But no… I’m not. It’s like I’m inside a rock. He began to panic. Tried to breathe deeply, but the stone’s grip wouldn’t let him.
If I can’t take a bigger breath, I’ll suffocate, Moor thought. Something’s wrong.
Then a memory flashed.
Ah… just another dream—a chemical storm in his head. A nightmare. The same ugly, endless nightmare that had haunted him for weeks. It scared him and fascinated him at the same time.
Now I’m trapped in a stone statue. And the statue is too small. It’s crushing me. I hate it.
But this time, he couldn’t remember how the dream ended. With light? Yes. Light was the answer. He tried to summon as much light as he could, to end the nightmare. But it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t remember what light looked like. What color was it? White? Red? Black? Damn. He knew the names of colors but couldn’t match them to shades. Or did light have a shape? Will someone tell me?
He thrashed, twisted… losing his mind. Moor, you’re crazy. Crazy. Light. Darkness. Crazy. Stone. Light. Flying. Crazy…
With his last ounce of strength, he pushed against it. He took a breath. Deeper than the stone could bear. The sound of a whip cracking. A judge’s gavel. The grip loosened, just a bit. On his back now. Suddenly, he had enough strength to win the fight with the stone. He’d get out. He had to. Like being born. To be free.
The statue lay beside him now. A hollow shell.
He stretched his wings.
Wings? I have wings?
Am I still dreaming? Will this dream never end?
No. I’m awake. I actually have wings. Divine. I can really fly. He tried to remember if he’d always had wings. Before? What before? He couldn’t recall anything. But the place felt familiar. Friendly. Peaceful.
In that moment, Moor was the happiest night moth in the world. The happiest nightmare.
He took a breath, spread his wings, and flew for the first time.
While flying, he thought about where to go. Yes, I’ll go there… to that… The word came to him: tree. Okay… I’ll call it a tree. A giant oak by the road. Landing felt as soft as slipping into a pair of slippers. This dimension of existence felt perfect.
His day was a friendly darkness. Safe. But the night was a time for beasts. It held a bearable sun, one that called out with the voices of sirens.
At first, the new bottle of Jack seemed like too much. Now it’s empty. Not a drop left, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Life’s the same way. Boundless one moment, strictly confined by rules the next, and eventually… just empty. Do what you want, do what you can. The vast world you once traveled has shrunk to a single blinking light on your phone.
Waiting to see if it’ll blink again. Waiting to see if someone wants to talk to you. Far from everyone, yet within reach of data networks. You want them to know you’re alive, too. Even if you’re at the very bottom of their list, you’re still on it. And that makes it all the harder to bear. They know you’re here, but it’s as if you’re not. You’re ready for any question, ready to reply, to ask, to engage. Grateful for the moments they remember you when they need help. But really, they don’t need you as much as you think.
Fool.
Will the light blink again?
You’re wasting time waiting. At least life isn’t endlessly long. Like everything else, it expands at first, only to start shrinking, contracting. Everyone has their own Big Bang, their own tiny, big universe. Yours is already shrinking. As fast as it can. Ending in an implosion. Collapsing selfishly into itself. How easy it would be to throw the phone against the wall, but… the naive hope that someone might need you stops you. What if, in that split second before it shatters, the light blinks again?
You’re trapped by your promises and your code of honor. Reduced to mere material necessity. And when you look around at your closest circle, you see their worlds have changed too.
We don’t talk anymore. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on the screens of their modern bibles. You subtly hint at how absurd it is, but the responses are always the same.
Just a second. So you wait. Instead of smashing their phones to the floor or cutting the router’s cable—anything to show them how much you miss real conversation—you wait. You can’t do it to them. They wouldn’t understand. You’d take away the world they’re content with. A world built from words like maybe, someday, we’ll see.
You remember a time when you went for walks in the forest, on trips, a time untainted by emotional emptiness. How you’d quietly slip out of the house while they slept, to sit in the still-dark woods, savoring the moment when the sun kissed the treetops. Sitting on that stone, on the high bank of a stream, you’d wonder how long it had been there. How big and deep the river must have been hundreds of thousands of years ago—wild, reshaping the landscape, dictating life around it. That high bank was surely once its bed. Ruthless and mighty, the river had carved out the world you loved sitting in so much. But now, there’s no river. No forest. Just a tiny trickle where grandeur once roared. A stream flowing quietly through the remains of its former glory. The trees are gone. The morning birdsong lives more in your memory than in reality. The small joys of ordinary life have disappeared. The good days are gone. It’s time. Time to find a new, beautiful place to set yourself free. Clear your head. Let it think about new things. Plan again. Anticipate. Look forward to the day and how you’ll spend it—even alone. Be of use to yourself. It must be possible. If they don’t need you, accept it. Stop asking why and start asking how. How to rid yourself of naivety. Naive stories from naive films filled with naive heroes preaching, All’s well that ends well. Understand that the end is a new beginning. The beginning of anything. The beginning of another life, no matter how short.
Try to become a strong river again, one that started as a tiny stream.
Be who you once were. Yourself.
Find the right moment to catch the right wave, riding it with adrenaline to the finish.
It’s time to stop waiting.
Bronica S2, Nikkor 75mm, HP5Plus + D76
It’s easy to say… start over… differently… better. But how?
A blank wall, as empty as his head. No inspiration, no ideas, no interesting topic—just the itch to write something. It’s too cold for Jack, and he’d freeze downstairs before even managing to write the first word.
He remembered he still had some glass at home… the last one. Somewhere. It had to be somewhere. Maybe an idea would come with a hit from the pipe. Frenzied rummaging through pointless collections of everything imaginable. Constantly moving unnecessary things around made it impossible to remember where anything was. There it was. The last one. New and unused. He remembered how he had told him where to buy the glass. He couldn’t help but laugh. An amateur posing as a professional, stocking up on glass pipes like they were loaves of bread. Maybe there wasn’t anything unusual about buying it. Producing the filling seemed far more natural to him. No time to choose—he grabbed the one on top and loaded the glass barrel. The end glowed red. Inhale.
Even though he’d cut his cigarette consumption from a hundred a day to forty, holding this in was still a struggle. Reload. His lungs had adapted by now. He had to hurry back to the warmth of his room before the chill set in. He put on his favorite song for inspiration. The absolute favorite. Opened the text editor, closed his eyes, and waited. The song ended.
Nothing.
Another song. Still nothing.
UTB. Nothing. FB…IG… Nothing.
How the hell do they do it? Or is it just bullshit? No thoughts or ideas came. From what he could write about, he couldn’t squeeze out a single word. From what he couldn’t write about, he could fill a library. But he had to respect the boundaries.
Fujica ST901, Takumar 55 f1,8
Weed isn’t daiquiri.
“It’s not Cuba… it’s as cold as a seal’s ass here,” he thought as he lit up and hurried back to the warmth.
With one subtle reminder, the first wave of the tsunami hit.
Don’t move.
Don’t get up.
Wait.
Close the laptop and set it aside, just in case the urge to stand overwhelmed him. He wanted so badly to get up, but he simply couldn’t.
Even if he were dying of thirst, he knew there was no way he’d make it to the kitchen for a glass of water. The water would have to come to him somehow. The water would likely arrive before any idea did.
Two hours of a parched desert in his mouth.
A tornado in his head. Getting up wasn’t that hard. But making it to the bedroom? A fifty-fifty chance. Small victory. FNM.
Only the thoughts of others filled his head.
Sebeironically, he chuckled: “If that’s how the geniuses did it, I’d love to see their manuscripts. I can’t even find the damn ‘a’.” He groped for the key. “Swore it was right there a second ago. Royal Gorilla isn’t daiquiri.”
Just let no one call, asking him to drive somewhere. Wrapped in the latest technology. Neat and polite. Respectably high. Finally, a long sleep. Dawn was breaking.
Phew… still feeling the aftermath. He picked the worst possible song and reaped his well-deserved reward.
Hole… you knew exactly what you were writing about
For lovers of another music genrefrom our music studio
“Well, tell me, buddy. Are we missing anything?” “Nope. All ok.” Jack settled comfortably into his spot.
“It’s weird, but lately, the only real peace I’ve felt has been with you.”
“Really? You sure you’re not going gay on me?”
“No, relax,” he laughed. “Perfectly straight…at least I’ve got that figured out. I like women. Love ’em. Over time, I’ve even come to appreciate their moods. An eternal romantic.”
“You’re on a roll,” Jack chuckled back. “Shall we have another?”
“Another? Jack, tonight we’re having them all. I’m in the mood to finish every last one…until they kick us out of this place.”
“Another glass, or another shot? Her or him?” Jack teased.
“Good point…a little bi-curious phrasing for a drink. But if it came down to it, I’d take whatever was offered.”
“You’re drinking like something’s eating at you, pal.”
“Maybe…a bit. My conscience, perhaps.”
“You do something?” “I’m always doing something.”
“That’s true, but you’re not a drinker. Barely touch the stuff—aside from your precious red wine. You only come to me when you want to drink. I know you too well… way too well.”
“Almost sounds like you regret knowing me.”
“So, what is it? What did you do?”
“Well, yeah…I did something. Had to. You know me. But I overdid it. She didn’t deserve that.”
“ Did you hurt her?”
“Yeah… Even though they can be cold as hell, I went too far this time. Love’s a bitch.”
“Wait…you actually fell in love? And you didn’t hit her, did you?”
“God…., no. She might’ve deserved a smack, but no, I just acted like an absolute idiot.”
“Wow. That sounded heartfelt. You’ve got to tell me the whole thing. I’m intrigued now, Mr. Romantic.”
He downed another shot in one go.
pic by AI
“You know, it was like Fast and Furious… but Italian style. Do you believe in love at first sight, Jack?” “Look…love isn’t exactly a word I associate with you. Fast and furious? Sure. Love? Not so much. I know you too well.”
“No, you don’t. Or maybe you do. It doesn’t happen to me often. Compared to you, I’m a nobody. Actually, compared to anyone, I’m a nobody. A nobody flying under the radar.”
“So, what did you do?” “I just…took some things back.”
“Your things?” “No.”
“Stuff you gave her? Jesus, you’re an idiot. A rookie move. You, of all people, playing the Messiah…”
“I’m not playing anything… It wasn’t about the stuff. I just don’t know how to handle this kind of thing. I hate arguing… It was just too much at the moment. It was supposed to be a lesson, you know, a bit of training.”
“Sure. Always the teacher. Were you two together long?”
“Not at all… just a moment. There was nothing she asked for that I wouldn’t give her. But it was doomed from the start. Whatever I did, it was wrong. But I couldn’t stop it. You know how it is… give a thirsty man a drink.”
“Thirsty? You’ve got a wife, a family… You look happy. What, was this some fling that got out of hand? Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll?”
“No fling… femme fatale. Seriously.”
“Ah, a midlife crisis?”
“Maybe a crisis… maybe just… I don’t know. An escape from monotony? I felt good with her. Really good.”
“Did you fuck together?”
“No. Whenever the word ‘sex’ came up, I had no idea what to say. It wasn’t about that. I just felt good with her.”
“Which probably wasn’t so good for her…”
“Maybe… probably… I don’t know. She was the only person who ever left me completely clueless. Totally blank. Honestly, I don’t blame her.”
“So, you got dumped,” Jack snickered.
“We weren’t even dating. We weren’t doing anything, really… So, no, it wasn’t about getting dumped. We just parted on bad terms…”
“Hold on… you weren’t dating, you weren’t sleeping together… Did you even do anything?”
“No. But I miss her… She doesn’t miss me. That’s fate.”
“A young girl?”
“Of course… But at this point, every woman’s young compared to me.” He took another sip.
“Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her around…I’d call my brother, but I bet you’re out of ice… Let’s head back to the bar, and I’ll finish the story later.”
“Okay.” He poured one last shot, screwed the cap back on the Jack Daniel’s, and placed the bottle in the ice box. He wanted to finish the story. Hundreds, thousands of kilometers apart, each going their own way. But in similar directions. Once related…born of the same mother. A magnificent supercomet. Torn from their home, they set off on a journey. A long, immeasurable journey, hidden from the eyes of onlookers. Separated for so long that the concept of unity meant nothing to them anymore. They flew through time, maintaining their course. Until one moment.
If it were a competition, would that moment be a win or a loss? Either way, it was the end. Beautiful and tragic all at once. In a single instant, the journey was over. These were tough bastards, so they didn’t care—not like the accidental witnesses, whose hearts would have pounded with nervous excitement. Their adrenaline would spike to the edge of unbearable. Just like it always does when something happens for the first time.
The first time. And the last. Only a condemned man or a suicide knows when it’s truly the last time. The last time, and then… nothing.
The energy would be transferred. Maybe, someday in the future, compared to the butterfly effect. A small, almost imperceptible change with unpredictable consequences. Even the Titanic could have been saved by a single high-quality telescope.
All they needed was Jupiter’s gravity. Just a little closer. But Jupiter had already decided how and when it would end.
Just a little longer… ten thousand kilometers left, and then it’ll be over. Five thousand. Breathe. Now.
Phew.
Why does everything suddenly slow down? And why so much light everywhere? It’s warm.
Dust you are, and to dust, you shall return.
One among many, passing through centuries unnoticed, had become their stage, their witness, and their end. Unrecognized, unnamed, yet real—they were here, and now they’re gone. Only in the memories of the accidental onlookers do they remain.
That’s what ran through his head. Nothing more.
“Jack?” “Yeah?” “Did you see it?” “See what?” “The meteor. It was beautiful.” “Sorry, I was falling asleep.” “Too bad… it was…” He trailed off.
Another one shot across the sky.
“Damn it, stop staring at that phone! You’re going to miss it.” “I’ve missed so much already, and look… I’m still alive. Slice me up however you want, and I’m still here.”
“But you don’t see what I see.” “I see other things…”
“Did you see that one?” “Yeah… so what? They call it a shooting star. Go ahead, make a wish, buddy. I’m all set… almost.”
“It sparkled… like a sparkler. I can still see the trail.” “Yeah, and now it’s gone. Period. Its time is up.”
“Sure… but I saw it. If I were the only person in the world, this show would’ve been just for me. I got to witness its premiere and its finale. A one-man show.”
“Oh, here we go… another philosophical night. You overthink everything, man. That could’ve been a damn rock aimed right at your head. Trust me, that would’ve been a much bigger one-man show—with a standing ovation.”
“But I’m sure I didn’t see it alone.” He stared up at the star-filled sky, talking more to himself than to Jack. “I couldn’t have been the only one who saw it… Wait, what were you saying? That I overthink everything? If I talk, it’s wrong… if I don’t, it’s wrong…”
“I’m not your judge. You just keep rambling on, and I’m over here doing my thing.” “Everyone rambles, Jack.” “I’m just trying to shape your rambling into something coherent. Most of the time, no one understands what the hell you’re trying to say. You talk too much, and you’re too quiet… everything’s too much.”
“Jesus… I’m just saying I like looking at the sky, that’s all.” “But you say it in a way that I have to decode it. Your ‘that’s all’ is the most entertaining part. Every time you say, ‘that’s all,’ I see an entire list of things under ‘that’ and ‘all.’ I know you.”
“You know me? No one can say they really know me. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me… Jack.” “Why do you think that? Maybe I enjoy listening to your crap… Maybe I like provoking you because I know you’ll take the bait. It always leads to some spectacular nonsense… never anything practical.”
“So you’re here just for the entertainment?” “Fair trade. You enjoy my company, too.” “No comment… but yeah. You’re right. You can’t just say everything outright. Not everything is meant for every ear, but you still have to talk about it.”
“So what are you trying to say?” “I just want to sit here, stare at the sky… watch the ‘falling’ stars, and make the same wish every time.” “What wish?” “They say if you reveal your wish, it won’t come true… so tough luck, Jack.” “Yeah, I don’t care that much, old dreamer. Besides, everyone dies… You don’t need to wish for that. It’ll happen anyway. Your wish is bullshit.”
“Whatever… The difference between us is that I like to hope, and you’re content just knowing. Like, I hope to squeeze another shot out of you, while you already know it’s not going to happen.”
Jack went silent. For the rest of the night, he shone as brightly as he could. Both his premiere and his finale.
Now, just a shell. A empty bottle humming the tune of the Titanic’s whistle.
Just one word. Nothing more. No smiley. No period. There’s no need to put a period after “enough” It’s already there. Hidden, but present. Plain to see. It was the last word he wanted to read. That’s why it came last. Not without reason. He had screwed up enough because he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe more than enough. It hit him hard. He didn’t know anything well enough. Not well enough. And so, his performance was rated the same: not good enough. It just wasn’t good enough for a better grade. If he’d experienced this more often in life, it might not have shattered him so much. But this was his first time. All that was left was to come to terms with it. Preferably fast enough.
Inspiration was gone. The engine of the past few weeks had gone silent. This is it. End of the line. Everyone off. He didn’t regret the time spent. He regretted that it had been just a dream. A painfully vivid one.
Enough. Pour yourself a drink, you idiot. A bigger one than usual. Don’t drink? Your loss. All you do is make mistakes. One after another. Life isn’t some childhood scrapbook. Life is a goddamn bitch; that’s why it seems like bastards are better at it. Step on yourself. Become one of them. One of us. You were one of us. Before you tried to be better. But understand this: you never will be. Never. It’s in your blood. You just know how to smile sweetly while you do it. Remember now? Yeah, yeah… it wasn’t that long ago. Twenty years? Twenty-five? Does it matter? No one will ever erase it from you. You liked it down here with us, so why the hell are you trying to climb up? Who are you trying to prove something to?
Ah, you’re tired of the quiet life… just admit it. Enough. Sounds tempting, doesn’t it? Want to know why? Because you’ve aged. Your brain—your best friend—has aged. You think you’ve seen it all. Trust me… you’ve just been lucky. But you haven’t even scratched the surface of what’s possible. Sure, it doesn’t have to end well, but that’s not what you’re looking for. If you wanted a happy ending, you would’ve ended this long ago. You’ve got everything. Except peace. Not the kind of peace you’re looking for. Always under control. Every step. Even writing this, you’re doing it when no one’s watching. Bravo, you’ve fulfilled your dreams. Bravo.
Another bout of self-pity. That’s what’s killing you. More than anything, you pity yourself. That’s the only real thing in your life. Your selfishness. Probably. There has to be something like that. People don’t change. So neither do you. You’re just a player. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Your entire life. Your bets reflect your nature as a gambler. All in. Everything. You could lose it all, but you can only gain what’s in the pot. It’s stupid. But it’s thrilling. The winnings are never as big as what you stand to lose. It’s easy. Because every game has its rules. But for it to work, everyone has to play the same game. Play the round. At least two players. The prize is the other person. Relationship baccarat. Baccarat Banque. Cards are dealt. And then comes the suspense. The third card. The third. Enough. So close to the goal. But will it be enough? Won’t someone else be closer?
You were so focused on the atmosphere of the game itself that you have no idea how many players are in it. You’re just playing. You have no connection to anyone or anything. That’s why you’re not scared of losing. You have nothing to lose. Everyone else is living their lives. And you? You keep trying to live someone else’s life. You’ve already fucked up your own, so why not fuck up someone else’s? Right?
Or do you think anyone buys the bullshit you’re selling? No one understands what you’re after. Just talking? And about what?
About life? Its pointless length? Its fleeting nature? Infinity? The endless river of your nonsense?
Enough Enough already This is too much It’s over Overkill
Excuse me… Sorry… My bad… Just passing through… For fuck’s sake, can’t anyone see I’m walking here? Where the hell did all these people come from? Of all days, why today? I have to make it. I promised. And now, this mess.
How much time do I have left? Ten minutes? Fine, I can make it. I’ve never been late. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Fuck off, man. I don’t want a fight. I’m not running away; I’m just in a hurry. Seriously, I don’t want this shit right now.
It’s not far now. Just two more blocks. How many times have I walked this street, and there was never this many people? Maybe there were, but maybe I had an extra minute back then. Well, not today. Not this time.
Another fucking red light. Goddammit. Should I just run for it? No, there are cops right there. Great. Guess I’ll wait. Come on, light. Fucking change already. What the fuck is wrong with this thing? Is it broken? He glanced around. Everyone else just stood there calmly, waiting. Like they had all the time in the world. He checked his watch again. Where the fuck did all that time go?
Finally, the light changed. The crowd started moving, two streams of bodies colliding like opposing armies. A fucking battlefield. And each person only fighting for themselves. “Sorry… let me help you up. No, I didn’t knock you over, that was them.”
He noticed the man’s white cane. Fuck. “Which way were you going? Okay, let me walk you across.”
And now, he was back on the wrong side of the street. For fuck’s sake. The cops didn’t move, just stood there, one of them giving him a thumbs up, as if to say, “Nice job, buddy.”
“Thanks, pal. But I’d appreciate it more if you, your buddy, and that goddamn thumb of yours were somewhere else.” He gave the cop a polite nod, masking his frustration.
Another red light. The same fucking crossing. Same side, but less time. My fault, he thought. Should’ve left earlier. Better to wait at the destination than to rush last minute. Dumbass.
He checked his watch again. Remember this crossing. Red lights here are cursed. You can’t fail. They’re counting on you to be there. If you mess this up, they’ll never come again. No second chances. Not for you.
He moved to the edge of the crosswalk, positioning himself to avoid the oncoming human stampede. Two shotguns facing each other, loaded with people. He had to stand clear of the blast.
Green light. Go. He was the first across. Fucking finally.
Three minutes. That’s all I’ve got. Just three fucking minutes. Four hundred meters and two flights of stairs. If you were twenty years younger, no one would even notice you running. But you’re not. You’re twenty years older.
The crowd thinned out a little. Just enough to give him a chance.
Here. A few steps left. He was sweating, but he’d made it. Honor intact. He pressed the doorbell.
No sound. He pressed it again. Nothing. He knocked. Harder this time. Neighbors must’ve heard that. He glanced at the peephole of the apartment across the hall and saw the light shift—someone was watching him.
He knocked again. Was I on time? Did I mix up the time or the day? No, this is the right day, the right hour. I’m sure of it. But here I am. Alone. Just me and the neighbor watching through the peephole.
He heard faint whispers and stifled laughter. Fuck this. He’d done his part. He turned and headed back down the stairs. Even if you do everything right, no one gives a shit about your reliability.
I’ll call them. I’ll figure out what happened. Maybe they got stuck in traffic too, fighting their own fucking red lights.
Out on the street, he looked around. Nothing. No one. That street packed with people earlier was now empty. Well, almost. Just one woman walking her dog.
Everyone’s gone. Vanished.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. It rang. At least it rang. But no one picked up. Just the same damn ringing. Over and over.
“I’m already here…” she read his message. She thought about how unnecessarily dangerous it was to keep texting while driving. Why don’t I have his phone number? she wonde
“…just 20 more minutes max…traffic’s decent,” she wrote back.
“No problem. I waited three years; I can handle a few more minutes,” he replied almost immediately.
“Should I order something? Anything you’d like?” He was secretly hoping she’d say she wanted him.
“I’ll leave it to you. Pick something,” she teased as she smiled at her phone.
“On it…” He liked her decisiveness.
I doubt you’ll remember what I like, but I’ll let you surprise me, she thought as she passed a short line of cars. The traffic was beginning to thicken.
“Oh no…” she muttered. “I’ll have to take another route.” Around the next bend, a much longer queue of cars appeared, and the last ones were already braking hard.
“It’s going to take a bit longer,” she texted. “I need to detour through Trenton.”
This time, she had to wait a little longer for his reply.
“Okay…I’ll keep myself busy. A colleague gave me a manuscript to read, so now’s the perfect time.”
“Fine…you’re not mad, are you?” she asked.
“Why would I be? Not everything can be planned, and we have the whole weekend ahead of us. Just get here safely,” he reassured her.
“Thanks, you’re a gem,” she wrote back, adding a small heart emoji. It was green. She’d hit the wrong one by accident.
Time flew by as he got lost in the manuscript. He glanced at his watch—an hour had passed.
Everything okay? he messaged her.
The message didn’t deliver.
Must be out of range, he thought. He set the manuscript aside and started staring at the undelivered message icon. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Then another five. Still nothing. He began to feel uneasy.
He thought about the area she might be driving through. He knew it well enough. No…there’s nowhere on that road where she’d lose signal. So why hasn’t it delivered?
Maybe her phone died after a long day. He immediately dismissed the thought. She’d raved so often about how convenient the wireless charger in her car was.
He restarted the data on his phone. When that didn’t help, he restarted the whole device. Okay, maybe the issue’s on my end, he thought, urging the phone to reboot faster.
“Come on…” he muttered. PIN, fingerprint, start Messenger… damn it, he fumbled. He restarted the app again, just to be sure.
“Boo!”
The voice startled him from behind.
“You’ve been waiting long, huh?” she said, leaning in close so he could catch the scent of her Burberry perfume. He loved that scent.
He kissed her gently. She didn’t pull away or comment. She simply sat down and raised her eyebrows playfully.
“So, did you pick something? Do you remember what I like?”
“To be honest…I have no idea what you like,” he admitted. “In fact, I wouldn’t even know where to remember it from. But I do remember when he introduced us. And I remember how I had to stop myself from staring at you.”
She smiled.
“I was thinking of a Caesar salad with salmon…and champagne. Cristal, maybe. It’s a special day, and I want to talk for hours. Not pass out stuffed with Chateaubriand.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing you talk,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“No, no—you can’t look forward to it,” he reminded her of their playful exchange from the night before. “Whenever I get excited about something, it ends up falling flat, like cheap sparkling wine.”
“We need to exchange phone numbers,” they both said simultaneously.
They burst out laughing, easing the atmosphere.
“You’re such a clown…utterly unbelievable. And inked, too,” she teased, pointing to his arm.
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his fully tattooed forearm.
The older couple at the next table visibly stiffened.
They talked for hours, the last guests reluctant to leave. Their conversation spanned everything—life, interests, values. They tried to outdo each other with the craziest things they’d ever done and the wildest ideas they still wanted to try.
The waiter subtly hinted multiple times that, while he appreciated their company, he’d like to go home. Yet her smile and his generous tips kept him from pressing the matter.
At the reception, they picked up the room key.
“Married?” the receptionist asked.
“That’s none of your business,” he replied to the unnecessary question.
“Of course, my apologies. Enjoy the rest of your night,” the receptionist said, watching the entwined couple walk off.
He unlocked the door.
“Go ahead,” he said, letting her enter first.
“Wow, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.
A suite straight out of a movie, she thought, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Wow…this is it, he thought.
“Shall we have something to drink?” he asked, heading toward the minibar.
“I could go for some bread with lard, homemade cracklings, and onions,” she teased roguishly. “And you,” she added.
“In that order? Seriously?” he turned to her.
“I’ll leave the order up to you.”
He returned empty-handed.
She had leaned back on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She was lying flat, her eyes closed. Her short skirt had ridden up higher than usual. He knew she was waiting.
He leaned over her, kissed her, and felt her breath quicken. He lightly grazed her neck with his teeth, moving toward her ear.
“I have an idea…come on.”
She opened her eyes, disappointed.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see…we’ll go for a drive and come back after.”
“And where are we going?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s not about where, it’s about why.”
“And why are we going?”
“You’ll see. Trust me. Just as you are—no need to change. The car is warm.”
They slipped past the sleepy receptionist.
“We’ll take mine,” he said, opening the back door for her.
“You don’t want me to sit up front with you? You could…”
“We’ll talk,” he interrupted her. “Talk about making love…until it becomes unbearable, and I have to stop. Anywhere.”
The Three Fates—at least that’s what they claimed to be—bent over his cradle. The first smiled kindly and said, “I grant you the ability to recognize and appreciate beauty. But you will never be able to create it yourself. This will not be an easy life.” The second spoke next: “You will always be surrounded by people… most of whom will be indifferent to you.” The third leaned closer, her voice laced with cruelty: “Welcome to hell.”
He never forgot their words. He knew all three of them from his past lives. The original Fates who were supposed to attend his birth hadn’t made it in time. That wasn’t common. Strange.
“Why do you think I don’t know?” he said. “Your eyes, they’re brown. Brown like chocolate, and just as addictive for me.” But it wasn’t really an answer. She hadn’t asked anything. He was just prepared to respond if she ever did. He had all the answers ready for her, though it was unnecessary. Every time she was near, instead of deep, meaningful thoughts, all he could do was spew nonsense. Like a schoolboy caught smoking in the bathroom, he felt awkward and embarrassed, yet unable to do anything about it. He wanted to be close to her, to make things easier for her, because he believed she needed that.
Only much later did he realize how much he overestimated his ability to help. She was far stronger and more resilient than he’d assumed. Probably like most women. But by the time this dawned on him, he’d already ruined everything. Or perhaps not. It wasn’t as if he’d had the power to ruin anything. He wasn’t that high on the food chain of her life. They simply had different lives, different suns, and different dreams. He’d fallen in love without having any idea what to do with that gift. He had nothing to offer, only pieces of himself to lose—little by little, or all at once.
He rarely took vacations, so he was absolutely sure of the day she started working at the company. “Did you see her?” he wanted to shout. He needed someone to witness that he hadn’t lost his mind. She was real, not just some electrical misfire in his brain. “Girl, you’re going to have a hard time here. Good luck, pretty.”
And then the realization struck: “Oh no, she’s with… shit. Some people are just born lucky. Makes sense now.” He’d seen her walk by many times after that. What puzzled him was that she never seemed to look around or notice anyone else. Or maybe it happened so quickly he missed it. It was as if someone had forbidden her from interacting with others. But he got it. He’d be jealous too.
“You guys ever tried walking in heels?” he mused to himself. “I don’t mean just making it safely from point A to point B. I mean walking in a way that makes everyone else lose their balance.”
He was one of those who lost his balance. He’d freeze in place every time she passed by, just to avoid accidentally crashing into a wall. Damn you, Fate!
At work, he kept to himself, so there was no one to talk to about it. He almost wanted to tell his wife how beautiful the new girl at work was, but he wisely reconsidered. That conversation wouldn’t have gone over well at home.
“If she ever needs anything, she can come to me,” he told himself. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m here to serve, to help others.” That’s all he’d ever done, whether he wanted to or not. The result was always the same.
Once, in his life, he’d become someone’s plaything. That wasn’t great. What if she was just a plaything too? A toy for someone who didn’t cherish their toys? Could you really form a bond with one toy when you had so many? Probably not. Definitely not. When a toy breaks or becomes boring, you just move on to another. That was a world he despised. He assumed she felt the same way. A wave of solidarity washed over him. “I’ll help her open other people’s eyes. I promise.”
Yes, he forgot to check if anyone actually wanted his help. But why would he? For gratitude? Isn’t it better to help without expecting anything in return? Of course it is. From the moment he learned they’d be collaborating occasionally, he tried to make things easier for her. Wow. He hadn’t even lifted a finger yet, and she was already standing just a step away.
She was even more natural and beautiful up close than he’d imagined. No enigmatic sphinx—she could laugh, and she enjoyed a good joke. Or so it seemed. God, she’s so lovely. He nearly melted, like a snowman under a summer sun. For a moment, he forgot about the Fates who had welcomed him into the world. Not for long, though. By the afternoon, he was certain she wouldn’t even remember his name the next day. It was always like that. King of the Naïve.
But they did meet again the next day. When was the last time he’d had a proper conversation with anyone? Until now, he’d essentially paid people to listen to him. He’d never told anyone as much as he told her. If she’d been an investigator for a case from his wild days in the ‘90s, he’d have confessed to everything in under two minutes. He lost his equilibrium. For a Libra, that was a particularly significant malfunction.
“Houston, we have a problem,” he thought to himself on the way home.
“She’s so addictively compelling. I have to be more careful. People at home are starting to look at me funny. Is it really that obvious? Or have I just been reacting differently to the same old stimuli?” He spoke aloud to himself.
“I hope I’m not talking in my sleep,” he suddenly worried. “Breathe in, breathe out, calm down. It’s nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong. Maybe just stop walking around with that stupid grin plastered across your face. You’ve read about this somewhere, haven’t you?”
“I don’t want to fight this,” he admitted. He liked the feeling. Yes, that was it. It was just a pleasant feeling, and he didn’t want it to end.
“I need to talk to her. I’ll just be open with her and… damn it, what exactly am I going to say? Focus, man.”
That I’ve fallen in love? Am I in love, or what is this even supposed to be?
Despite his thoughts scattering in every direction, they all pointed to one place—her. Whatever he thought about always led back to her.
Where? With her. When? Whenever she says. How? However she wants. What? What does she think? Why? Because of her.
Have you even slept? You idiot, you even forgot to eat. But that’s fine. This kind of weight loss is automatic. Once, you tried that protein diet, and it worked. I’ll just buy a tub of chocolate-flavored protein powder and be set. Didn’t she joke about not talking to me if I become a skeleton? That must’ve been a joke, right?
Is there anything I couldn’t do right now? Need someone to reverse the Earth’s rotation? Not a problem.
“Do you have time to stop by? I need something,” he texted her. She said yes. “You know, I got this idea. I’d like to buy you something.”
“Don’t you dare,” she warned him.
He grabbed her wrist gently and smiled. She didn’t smile back. In every movie and every book, when a woman said no, she meant yes. It never even occurred to him that she might have meant exactly what she said. He was simply happy at the thought of making her happy.
Too bad the weekend was starting. Two days without seeing her. The weekend flew by, as weekends tend to.
I hope I catch her before she leaves, he thought. There she was, walking. I can still wish her a good weekend. Ouch. She saw me coming and deliberately turned to face the other way. …Why? What did I do?
The weekend blurred past him.
Finally, Monday. Finally, back at work. He had to see her. “Hi, Nomy,” he greeted her, relieved.
“Hi,” she whispered and walked away quickly. His world exploded. It was his personal Big Bang. Several of them, actually. He couldn’t understand. The bees vanished, the batteries died, the sun went out. Darkness. Don’t forget to breathe.
“You were working. I didn’t want to disturb you, you know,” she texted him later.
Not buying it. You know you can’t disturb me. Something happened. I must’ve said something wrong, or she found something out about me. But what? I told her everything there was to tell.
Men don’t cry, remember? I don’t care what men are supposed to do or not do. Can I, just for once, do something I want? I have to ask her, explain to her… what was it the third Fate said? That I’d think about her every second of the day? No, she didn’t say that.
“I think about you every third and fourth second of the day,” he texted her. Liar. He thought about her constantly. Always. First, second, third, fourth… first, second…
Oh God, what did I just text her? Now I look like a complete idiot. Way to go. Another stupid thing to add to the pile. Always proofread before hitting send. …Unless she deletes my messages immediately.
I can’t text her anymore. I know I can’t. There are so many things I shouldn’t do. The list of things I’m allowed is so much shorter. Calm down… breathe deeply. Think about happy things. But I am thinking about happy things. I haven’t felt this happy in ages.
Where are you, Fates? Hiding? You should really be separated. You’re not allowed to hang out together. Neither are we. No one is. Everyone against everyone. I’m seriously losing it.
You love your music. It’s always helped you. You live in a different world. Hey, little soldier, you’ll live with me forever. You’ll stay on my left forearm. My right one will get something too—a greeting to the world and all my friends.
Remember… once, you wished everyone would forget about you. It was so much easier back then. You didn’t want to trouble anyone… how long ago was that? Twenty years? You were alone then. You missed your chance to set yourself free.
She must’ve been born around that time.
Wow, I really am old. There’s nothing between us… just those twenty years… forgive me. Old people are blind and deaf. And I deserve this. Look at you, how out of your depth you are. Surprised? How do I make it so I can be with her? Here we go again. How long does this take to pass?
But I don’t want it to pass. The real question is, how do I avoid being a burden to her presence? That’s not the answer either. Was that disaster at home in February or January?
But I don’t want it to pass. The real question is, how do I avoid being a burden to her presence? That’s not the answer either. Was that disaster at home in February or January? I never kept secrets at home, never even thought of hiding bank statements.
“Did you buy jewelry for some woman?” my wife asked. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, like this would never happen to you all. You’re all so loyal, flawless, and perfect. Drink the cup of bitterness to the last drop. I’m a despicable bastard. How long did I end up living in my car?
If I could, I’d hug her. Stroke her hair. Cheer her up. But wouldn’t anyone want that? She isn’t for you, my friend. You can’t have everything. Even if you stood on your head. Repeat it to yourself. Constantly. Don’t forget it.
Can you eat now? Try it. Doesn’t taste good? Taste is just a wrapper. Eat, even if you don’t feel like it. You’re a chemist. You know how the human body works. If sadness can be created chemically, surely happiness can too. Dopamine. The quickest route is through drugs. No, I definitely don’t need everything. So, where can we find dopamine in nature? Think. You love plants. Of course! Bananas!
Just eat three kilos of bananas daily, and you’ll be as good as new in a month. She even smiled at you again, didn’t she? Of course, you noticed. Just hang in there. Don’t bother her. Be nice and don’t bother her. Damn it, yesterday was Women’s Day, and I didn’t wish her anything. Now she’ll think I’m rude. Or worse, that I forgot about her. Or worst of all, that I’ve finally forgotten her. But no. I think of nothing else; that’s why I can’t even remember the date.
I know this has dragged on for far too long. I’m acting like a stalker. And even my attempt at that is pathetic.
March. My first surgery as a patient. I’m nervous because they’re going to put me under, and I’ll be completely out of control. As if I’m in control now. If only it were something more serious. Maybe they’d accidentally perform a lobotomy. They didn’t. Too bad. Maybe then I’d fit in.
“We’ll arrange transport to take you home,” they offered for my good behavior.
“Thanks, but I have my car here,” I said, trying to pose.
“Are you sure you’ll manage to drive?” they raised their eyebrows.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I need the practice. Got to be ready for work,” I replied. If only they knew why, they’d have walked the 180 kilometers every day.
They gave me a list of things I couldn’t do for three months. Okay. Added Nomy to that list myself. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
Ah, now I see why they didn’t want me driving. I can’t even get out of the car.
What exactly was on the list again? No sex, even when I got home. Exercise with extreme caution. Everything hurts. Nomy? I’ll just send her a joke. Later.
April. Still here. Walking like an invalid. Needs more training. Train everything. I’m holding on. I’ll just send her an occasional joke. Does it even sound like a joke? And May is coming. In May, she has her name day. I’ll just wish her a happy name day. I’ll think of something original. Can’t I just wish her something simple for once? Leave it as you wrote it. Don’t try to improve it. Look, you managed. You don’t need to write anything else.
“Can you come to quality control, please?” she called in June.
Don’t break your legs running over there!
But no… I opened the door and saw a little spread laid out. It hit me—it was her birthday. Nomy, what are you doing to me? I was finally behaving and staying out of trouble. Now you’re dangerously close again. So fragrant. This wasn’t supposed to happen. To the day, it’s been three months since everything was forbidden. I can’t understand it. I’m like a moth drawn to the flame. How do I explain all this to you? How much I’m fighting it. How much shame I feel. It’s too much for me, and too much is too much.
I could write a book about it.
Yes, that’s it—I’ll try to explain everything to you in a book. Maybe then you’ll understand me. I need to apologize. I’ll try through a book, or at least a story. I once wrote a book about how I don’t know how to live. It’s going to be a bit of hell to go through this again, but I really want you to know how things are. That from different angles, it always looks just a little bit different. Just a little.
Once upon a time, there was a wee “Wanna”. Just your regular, bog-standard Wanna. Nothin’ too flash, just a plain ol’ Wanna. It fancied everythin’. This, that, the other, and Jaysus, it couldn’t go on without the whole lot. Wanna knew that if it didn’t holler, no one would know what it fancied. So it started yappin’: “I’m mad keen, so I am!” But not in front of everyone, mind. Just sendin’ whispers over the airwaves. Whoever tuned in could hear it.
By some feckin’ chance, a “Notions” picked up on it. (That was Wanna’s own fault, really. It was mad for Notions.) Beautiful, untouchable Notions. Nah, I’m not havin’ it, Notions said. I don’t fancy it. Not from you, not from anyone.
Now, this was a right kick in the arse for Wanna. “Why d’you not fancy it?” Wanna typed over the air. “Eh? What’s it to you?” Notions shot back. “Just tell me!” Wanna pleaded.
But Notions was havin’ none of it. No matter how much Wanna yapped on, Notions stood firm. “Listen here, ya eejit,” Notions said. “It’s nothin’ to do with you, but I don’t fancy it. Get it?”
Poor Wanna was desperate. It stretched itself three feckin’ meters tall, all puffed up. A proper sight to behold. Notions nearly dropped dead from the fright. “Get away from me, you big mad yoke! I don’t want you anywhere near me!”
Wanna was gutted. Properly deflated. Like an old airbed with a hole in it, lettin’ all the air out, slow and steady. It got smaller and smaller until it was just a wee scrap of itself. Barely there at all.
“Notions, please…” Wanna muttered. “Please what?” Notions snapped. “Please fancy me.” “Not a chance,” Notions said. “And stop yer beggin’, ya sap.”
“I’m wearin’ me best trousers,” Wanna whimpered. “Still don’t fancy it,” Notions smirked. “Chancers like you don’t get the time o’ day,” Notions added.
“Chancers like you,” came a voice from above. “Will be stuck together. Forever.” The big fella in the sky wasn’t takin’ no for an answer. And so Wanna and Notions were stuck, together but apart, arguin’ into eternity.
Listen close, and you can still hear ’em. “Wannaaaa…” “Not havin’ it!”
