Life is too short for boring stories

He stood at the gate, motionless, the night she left. It wasn’t long ago that he had lost everything, everything that was of importance to him in this world, everything and everyone, at one stroke, uprooted and lost, in the infinity of the world, which was nothing more than this one street he knew but when everything was gone, the house, and the residents, and the family and, no, friends, he had no friends, because he was strange, just like his whole family. The neighbors agreed, and so did the other people, from the beginning to the end of the street. They adhered to it, were consistent in their rejection. It is probably the only thing that people agree on, in their fraternization in hatred. Silence surrounded him for as long as he could remember, silence and rejection.

He must have had a family, at least one place to stay. The hatred wasn’t there, at least not immediately, but the hatred of the others got through to them, it was like a poisonous, invisible gas that penetrated through every crack and poisoned their lives, and the indifference was at least as bad, that ruled in their house, but there was still a house and a home and people, but then suddenly there was nothing more, from the beginning of the street to its end. It wasn’t even a particularly long street, and yet it was suddenly the loneliest place in the world, the most lost and the most infinite, since there was nothing left, including nothing that would have marked the beginning or the end, just plain nothing. There he stood and didn’t know where to, not where from when she came. Before that, people from outside had hurried through infinity, and he wondered how they managed to get in and out again, but it was probably because they had no home on this street, even if it was filled with indifference and poisoned by hatred, at least still a home, a roof and four walls. They rushed through, the people from outside infinity, rushed through, and he stopped, because in infinity one can neither go forward nor backward, time stops because it too can neither forward nor backward. Then she came and did not hurry any further. She stopped next to him, looked at him and grasped it, without a word, the indifference and hatred he had endured, and now the deep abandonment. She stayed and got involved in the story that spoke out of his eyes and thus also became hers. He didn’t say a single word because he couldn’t. He fell silent in the face of misery and infinity and suffering. She was his salvation, his last, only salvation. Suddenly he felt a will that he had never known before, like the last rearing up of a wild animal when it tries to free itself from the deadly trap. It was a primal instinct that made him seize the salvation that it was to him. He took her hand, determined never to let go of it until the end of days. He had lost everything. Now he was determined not to give anything more unless someone stole his life first. Her look spoke confusion, and yet she instinctively knew that she couldn’t shake him off, couldn’t manage to push him back into this absoluteness. So, she accepted that he would go with her to the edge of infinity. She looked at him gently and said that it was necessary that she leave him alone for a while, but she promised to come again, she would definitely come again. And he tried to find that unconditional want in her eyes, and because he wanted it so badly, he found it too. So, he let go of her hand and she left the road and the infinity, but she did not come back. She never came again. And yet, she had promised.

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