That night, the city looked like a colossal creature of steel and glass, breathing through the vents of air conditioners and exhaling clouds of exhaust into a gray sky that had never known stars. Cold skyscrapers reflected neon lights in unnatural hues, like flowers without fragrance, pulsing in sync with merciless, ever-changing advertisements.
On the ground floor of an aging tower stood the bar, its dim yellow glow like an oil lamp defying the darkness of an ocean of artificial light. Inside, dark wooden chairs gave a faint creak beneath the weight of the patrons. Music leaked from worn-out speakers—a blend of slow jazz and electronic beats—curling around the conversations the way smoke wraps around a lamp.
They all sat around the table: five classmates trading words heavy with familiar life. They spoke of tomorrow's exam, of the professor who never smiled, of a new café opening soon. One told the story of a shopkeeper who tried to sell him a "smart" watch that only worked halfway, and the group erupted in laughter.
He sat at the edge of the table, holding his half-full glass. He spoke rarely, as though his tongue had decided it would rather observe than participate. He listened, but meaning no longer reached him—only fractured rhythms of their voices.
His eyes were drawn to the wide glass window of the bar. Beyond it, the street unfolded in layers. A middle-aged man rested a hand on his young daughter's shoulder, bending down to whisper something. She laughed—pure, crystalline—so much so that he felt a strange unease, as though that laughter had traveled from a world he had never known. On the opposite crossing, another man hurried by, head lowered, his coat flaring behind him, not looking left or right, as if fleeing from time itself. Behind him, a bicycle weaved through potholes with movements almost like a chaotic dance.
He looked back inside. One of his classmates was recounting an embarrassing incident on the bus while the others laughed loudly. Then the sounds began to fade, as though a sheet of thick glass had been raised between him and the world. The background music stretched into one long note, then broke—and inside him… the pain came.
It was no ordinary pain, but a cold wave that struck him from within, locking his muscles for seconds, making his limbs tremble. His heart beat to a strange rhythm, out of step with the city's.
He steadied himself, took a sip from his glass, set it down gently on the table, and said in a low but steady voice:
"I need some air."
He stood, gave them a brief smile, and left.
The night air was heavy with a dampness that clung to the skin. Neon lights shimmered on the wet pavement, making it look like the surface of an artificial sea. Cars passed by, yet their noise felt distant, as though heard from the far end of a tunnel.
He walked without aim. His steps carried him from brightly lit streets to dimmer ones, until the passersby grew fewer. And here, the other voice in his head rose—not knowing if it was his own or something living inside him, but hearing it clearly:
Is this truly life? To eat, to work, to sleep?
Is this what we were made for? Or were we never made at all?
If we were created… by whom? And if we came from nothing… how could life emerge from nothing?
He passed the window of an abandoned shop. The glass was grimy, the sign above it so faded the letters had almost vanished. His reflection stared back at him, but it felt like the image of someone else, someone watching him from the other side.
The episode returned—less violent than before, yet pressing against his chest, forcing his breath into a faster rhythm. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling that the ground beneath him was no longer steady, that everything around him was a stage set that could be pulled away at any moment.
He kept walking. The buildings around him grew quieter, their facades dark, like the blind windows of a sleeping giant. He neared the city's edge, where streets turned to dirt and potholes brimmed with stagnant black water. There was no one there—only a stray dog that crossed his path and slipped into the shadows.
Ahead was a narrow passage between two brick walls, leading to a place that seemed to be forgotten. He hesitated for a moment, then curiosity drove him forward. The ground was uneven, and the wind rattled sheets of metal in the distance, producing a faint, eerie hum.
He stepped onto an old wooden board. It gave a muffled creak—then cracked beneath his weight. There was no time to react. The ground vanished beneath him, and gravity took hold without mercy.
He fell. The drop was longer than it should have been, with no light, no sound—only the rush of air around him and the pounding of his heart, beating violently as though trying to keep up with his body's plunge into the unknown.
And then… everything went dark.
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