Down by Twan B.

the next

I woke up alone, by the warmth of a sunbeam. The dense fog of the morning before was no more and I wondered why the light could radiate such a comforting heat in this time of the year. I thought all this just to focus my mind on anything else than the anguish to get rid of the morbid thoughts I had gained during the night. This forced me to get out of bed and find anything that would keep me occupied. Over the low, monotone, constant drone I heard that the streets were filled again with a lively chatter of ignorance, indicating it must have been around noon, or not much later. Everyone knew of the curfew, but would they have any idea what went on after that? Would they realise what the machines are capable of? Would they even have any interest in it? Perhaps they just want tow live their lives how it was given. Or have they already seen the suffering of the less fortunate and have been neglecting it since? My stomach wasn't up to anything yet, which made me get dressed. Even though I've lived in this apartment for a few years, only now the walls seem to frighten me somehow. They radiate a fake, plastic voidness. Before it all started, it looked so much different, so much more like me. Obviously the designs had changed, everything had changed; if you've managed to gather the best crowd around you, the cold still wouldn't leave you. All the promises, all the lies, they never lived up to stick to them. And instead I was given all this. Shouldn't I be grateful? Shouldn't I thank the great thinker on my bare knees every morning? Or should I just set fire to all the remaining memories, hope and eagerness? Of course I was too much of a coward to do so. The cold in my face felt good, almost hurt, but in the good sense of the word. The brown colours of the fallen leaves on the green grass indicated the season of the year. But I was suspicious enough to ask if it was all natural. I was trying to calculate some kind of roster or repeating grid in which they could have been placed after the thorough cleaning of the park. From the same level, the park looked very different. I forced myself to stop staring at the pattern in the leaves when I saw two kids rolling around in them. Maybe I'd get up early tomorrow to figure it out when the whole park would be untouched. I sat next to an older man reading whatever he would have found lying around. I even was of absolutely no interest to look over his shoulder. As if I was trying to find a comfortable position, my hands grabbed the outer rim of the bench. I froze; I felt a wet, thick substance underneath the rim. I was too frightened to have a look what was on my hands. I watched nervously if there was no one around noticing me, but of course everyone was too preoccupied with themselves to even care what anyone else was doing. I let go of the rim and turned around my hand in a fair distance of my head. My fingertips were darkish red.