There was a crowd of people. He was in the middle, not far away from Joan. Everybody rushed in the same direction, not looking anywhere. Joan was not aware of him. He viewed her all the time. How beautiful she was. Long blond hair, straight, no fringe. Some streaks, not to much. Dark brown eyes. Looking through everything, sparking all up. Drilling deep into his soul, everytime eyes met. High cheeks but soft. Perfectly formed lips that expressed fear, intimacity and passion. And, killing every resistance to her immediately, single pearl earrings. Every woman he ever met had to have single pearl earrings. Otherwise, nothing happened.

He could remember his first real love, having exactly this type of earrings on their first date. How could he forget.

Joan moved like all the others. They moved from town to countryside, watching more an more people disappearing. Soon, only two were left – Bill and Joan. They surely walked some minutes, even hours without speaking. Eventually they grabbed their hands, still not talking. Holding their hands they walked and walked. Though it was cold outside, their hands warmed up. It was a firm grip, both did not want to loose the other one. In front of them, a small town appeared and they straightly walked in, now walking very close to each other. They started to talk to each other, but their lips didn’t move. They talked so much, about how close they felt, how truly happy they were. They both totally agreed, that this must be a dream. They could read each others mind, could feel the other inside.

They entered a small boutique. It was very contorted. You could not see a single wall, only clothes. Any colour, any shape. Small rooms, large rooms, rooms not high enough to walk in, rooms small like a box. A small door lead to a small inner courtyard. Covered with green gras and many flowers. Though it was a courtyard, only the door they used to enter could be seen – nothing else of the building. A couple of tables and chairs rested in the middle. An old man with strange clothing sat nearby. They took a seat just besides him.

The old man was angry. He waved about like crazy with his hands. Talked in images and threw words on Bill like a water pouring from a waterfall. Got more an more angry. Bill was getting smaller and smaller. He opened his mouth, tried to speak but couldn’t. Which was not surprising. The water still poured. The old man was so angry, Bill feared he could explode. Joan was calm, absurdly calm. The louder the old man got, the calmer Joan was. It nearly felt like she was enjoying this. Bill still could not say anything. Instead, he felt like the old man started to open his head – to drill into it with his eyes. Next was his heart, his breast was torn open and his inner feelings were revealed.

The old man still shouted and gestured, but it slowed somehow. Now Joan took Bills hands. His chest closed, but only to explode again. This feeling of her, looking into his eyes, holding his hands, it was overwhelming. He could but stare at her, feeling like being completely naked. And, it felt good. She pressed her body towards him. He was close to getting unconscious, but she held him here with her deep, large and mysterious brown eyes. Eyes, that burned the bad, even if that meant burning all. He was home again. Home, everything he ever wished for.

She stood up, took him for a short walk. Showed him the flowers, explained their colours. Told him, why they grew here. Told him, why this place was so important to her. Why he was the first to come here with her. Why the old man was there. Told him, that she was ill. Madhja Purna. Rare, strange, unexplored. It was a disease, that took peoples resistance. Not physically, but mentally. He didn’t understand. Resistance? Joan was bold, powerful, stood straight. Yes, she was. But not on her feelings‘ side. She had to resist to people everywhere. She could not make friends. The risk of being disappointed was too high. Being disappointed meant that her physical defenses dropped. Opening all doors to all kinds of physical threats. A simple cold would sweep her away from life instantly. Bill only slowly understood. They walked to a small plot of red roses. She cut one off and pushed a thorn into her thumb.

„This won’t harm me. But, if someone lies to me, it could kill me.“

Bills imagination tried hard, but still couldn’t cope. Joan took a step towards him, folded her arms around him. Again, he was near falling uncounscious. She again hold him with here with her eyes.

„It’s the truth. Madhja Purna is ruthless. I’ve made no friend for twenty years now. It started being a child with ten years. My parents had to save me from passing away more than once. It took so much time for me to understand.“

Bill still did not understand. She still held him, burying her head on his chest. He felt confused. Surely felt the warmth, the intimacity. His armes moved, without having him told them so. They folded around Joan. If ever a moment was worth to remember for a lifetime, this was he thought. If ever he had to chose a last moment for his life, this was it. If he had one wish for free, it was to never let this moment end.

Again, she took his hand to move on. A tree, larger than he could see. A trunk stronger than concrete.

„This is you. At least, how I need you. It won’t work else. Old Man does not agree. Totally not agree. Me, I want to. What is this life for if I can not taste love? Tell me!“

He couldn’t. Well, he couldn’t speak. He just looked at her. So beautiful. He wanted to dive into her eyes, get beyond them. Get rid of this ridiculous shell called body, get into her soul and, yes, fly away. Sure. Her eyes looked somehow angry, he immediately felt guilty.

The old man moved towards them. He had a field glass on his left eye. He came close to Bill and inspected him thoroughly. His appearance changed from an old man to something else. It looked like a very angry animal, hungry, relentless, gutted. Bill trembled with fear. He felt again naked, felt like a pupil with a cheat sheet. Joan just stood aside and watched. After a couple of minutes the old man left for the tables in the centre. Joan again took his hand, walked towards a white blanket. She also took the other hand and slowly moved Bill so he laid on his back. She coverd both of them with a very large cover. Bill felt her weight in him, felt how she once more buried her head on his chest.

„I can hear your heart beating. It tells me something. You know?“

„Only one thing remains in my heart. You.“

„I know. It has to be.“

Joan, what’s this all about?“

You are dreaming. With me. Could that be?“

„I don’t believe you. This is real, isn’t it?“

„You tell me. But more important, tell me something else.“

Joan, you know already. I love you. Always and forever. You, Joan.“

Of course Joan knew. Never before she took a man to her place. Never before she introduced someone to the Old Man. Never before, she took the risk of letting Madhja Purna win. But with Bill it was different.

The old man again came around. He again faced Bill. Again, he drilled his eyes into his. Again, Bill had no defenses. The Old Man shouted questions at him, not waiting for Bill to answer. The Old Man got more an more angry. Bill felt on his knees. He could see a teardrop in Joan’s eyes. The Old Man did not stop. Bill broke down, he couldn’t stand anything the Old Man shouted. Eventually, Joan tried to calm the Old Man. Bill was lying on the gras. He couldn’t move anymore. Pain started to raise through his head, his chest. He felt guilty like never before in his life. Joan talked to the Old Man, who walked away after some words from Joan.

Joan helped Bill to stand up. He had red eyes full of tears. Joan took him into her arms. Held him tight. He couldn’t but hold her too.

With a voice, so soft, so quiet and fragile, a kind of tone he never heard before, she whispered into his ear:

„Bill, I love you.“

With a firm look into his eyes, she gently pressed her lips on his and kissed him. Bill could only observe what was happening, he had no power to decide, think, nor do anything. He just stood there and felt endless.

Blind man

The chair was kind of uncomfortable. But like so many days before, she woke with her back aching and her eyes swollen. Bill made no sign of waking like all other days she spend here before. She wondered how long she could make that work for her. But still no thought on leaving.

However, she thought about their time. Not unusal. Not making a difference. But she felt different now. With her days spending here in hospital distance grew. Distance to Bill, distance to their time. But not distance meaning she did somehow cope with what happened to her and them. Rather distance in how real it really was. That felt bitter. Leaving something behind may be hurting, but it still meant something, meant that there was a time that was worth everything else. But getting a distance, a distance that even rendered her memory into something fuzzy, into something far to unlikely to be real, felt uneasy. She felt like urging everybody around her to tell her that it was real. That it indeed happened. Like somebody becoming blind someday, and feeling the memory of vision, landscapes and faces washing away. What may remain of you if your memory felt unreal, not part of your life anymore?

„Tell me, that memory of mine, is that real? Did it really happen? I mean, have I been part of what happened there?

„Sure. How’d you think that this may come in your head else?“

„But, but how, there is no picture, no feeling, no smell just noting with that memory. It seems like it is a memory belonging to somebody else that somehow became part of my memory.“

„What is that doubtfulness in your mind? It is your memory, you know that.“

„Well, I just can’t believe it anymore.“

„I can tell you it is real, cause I have been with you.“

She startled, trembled and opened her eyes. Bill was awake.



The truth?

She had no appointments. Everything was cancelled. She wanted to be with him, be with Bill, as long as it would take. Still there was no change in his constitution. No sign of consciousness. She thought of time they spend together. Time that was so massively filled out with confidence, luck and love. She could feel it. Remembered everything.

„Hey, Joan, I’m going to fetch bread roll from the market. Any specific requirements?“

„No, just, yes, bring some Bill with you, well tanned and trained. I’d like to have it with some sweet honey and at little butter. You think that’s possible?“

„Whoa, that’s a lot. I guess the butter might be possible. But with the rest, let’s see“

Bill left for the market. She couldn’t make it up, but she never felt uncomfortable with Bill leaving her. She had that trust, that trust in their relationship, in the heavens meaning well with them. Feeling so right, there must be some plan behind that. A good plan indeed, she admitted. Smiled, and waited for here sugar bread roll to reappear.

Bill eventually came back with everything ordered. They had their second breakfast in their little spot in croatia. It felt like home, like nothing else matters, like this was the only thing that was right and correct. Her heart was solid like never before, just because she knew him loving her, and she feeling the same for him.

The time back then in croatia was somehow the best time they had. They had lot of good adventures. But, looking back, this trip was so unconscious, so innocent, so purely, blindly loving. No thought about a future, no thought about anything but their love.

She picked up a stone, no special one. But, it was their stone, the sign of their love.

He discovered a bird in the sky, no special one. But it was their bird, carrying their dreams, showing the love that would fly high in the sky. Protecting those to small beeings, that felt of course the specicality of love they where in, but by no means felt the fragility. That made it special, that unique. And though she had other relationships, this was different. Many people guess that there might be only one that fits, many people remember a special first relationship. But only few experience a connection that deep, that intensive and close than they did.

Unfortunately, they became snotty, carefree and dissatisfied with what they had. Completely forgot what a relationship was about. Completely forgot that even the closest link needed taking care. Needed affection, stroking and time.

It was a bitter sentence. It was the lifetime sentence to not recognize the other one, to not see who he was. What he or she was. Imagine, two people, crafted, made for each other, sentenced to not perceive that any more. However, perceive it later on, when it is to late. When the dies are cast. When stakes are set. When dead ends are chosen.

Never think about what could have been she thouht. Never even spend a second on dreaming. Just avoid the pain. Just avoid drifting away. Just try to cope with today, not thinking about tomorrow, least of all thinking about yesterdays. It might break your neck.

Schon da?

Wenn es dann einmal so weit ist. Wenn es kein Zurück mehr gibt, keine Abwägen, keine Bedauern. Kein Schuldgefühle, keine Reue, nichts. Dann, dann ist es soweit. In diesem Moment löst sich alles auf, jeder Schmerz, jede Angst und jedes Bedauern verschwindet. Es bleibt das einfache, reine Sein. Die völlige Entkopplung von der Realität, die völlige Abkapselung. Damit geht es voran, damit wird neuer Raum geschaffen.

Ich kenne nichts

Eduard träumte. Er lag zu Hause in seinem Bett. Der Fernseher liegt, aktuelle Nachrichten zeigten das Ausmaß der Zerstörung. Viele hundert Menschen mussten ihr Leben lassen, einige zentrale Gebäude der Innenstadt waren in Schutt und Asche, teilweise fast schon unheimlich verschwunden. Es war die Rede von einem Terroranschlag, nur fehlte jegliches Bekennerschreiben.

Eduard träumte, träumte von einer kleinen Hütte. Im Wald, aus Holz. Es gab einen kleinen Ofen, der brannte und wärmte das innere der Hütte. Es war sehr behaglich und Eduard war nicht allein. Er konnte nicht sagen wer bei ihm war, er konnte es nicht sehen. Doch fühlte er sich zu Hause, wohl, wie nie. Beide saßen in einem kleinen Sessel, bequem, warm und zufrieden. Sie beobachteten das kleine offene Feuer, das Spiel der Flammen und schwiegen. Sie konnten das gut, kannten sie sich doch schon so lange. Keiner wusste wie lange, keiner konnte sagen wann es begann. Es fühlte sich an wie die Ewigkeit, es musste vom Anbeginn der Zeit sein. Eduard stimmte ein Lied ein, jemand anderes sang mit, exakt diesselbe Melodie. Das innere der Hütte begann zu leuchten. Beide schlossen ihre Augen und sangen immer weiter. Die Hütte stand tief im Wald, keiner konnte die Melodie hören, und doch veränderte sich die Welt um die Hütte. Das Leben erwachte von neuem, es war zu spüren. Die Bäume wurden wieder grün, die Sonne trat aus dem Nebel hervor und am Boden fingen unzählige Pflanzen an zu wachsen und zu wachsen. Bald war dieses Lied überall zu hören, und je weiter es hörbar war umso mehr blühte die Welt auf.

Eduard schreckte auf, er konnte sich an nichts erinnern. Er beobachtete den Fernseher. Viele Tote, Gebäude zerstört. Mist, er war wieder zu spät. Es war seine Aufgabe, seine Bestimmung. Er hatte versagt. Mühsam schleppte er sich in sein Bad und versuchte sich für den Tag vorzubereiten. Erst da merkte er, dass er nichts, aber auch gar nichts an hatte. Wo waren seine Kleider geblieben? Er schüttelte den Kopf, war aber noch nicht klar genug um zu begreifen. Um zu verstehen, was passiert war.

Seine Kleidung war nicht vorbereitet, nichts stimmte an diesem Tag. Er wurde wütend, wurde ungehalten. Wie konnte das immer wieder passieren? Schnell räumte er alles liegengebliebene auf und sortierte seine Kleidung, Schutzausrüstung, er wusste doch wie wichtig das war. Schnell schlüpfte er in seine Uniform, immer noch nichts ahnend. Erst als er die Haustür öffnen wollte bemerkte er, das etwas nicht in Ordnung war. Es war Dunkel draussen, obwohl es bereits kurz vor mittag war. Wie konnte das sein? Er wurde misstrauisch. Hatte er bisher noch nicht aus einem Fenster geschaut, prüfte er nun jeden möglich Blick nach draussen. Alles war dunkel, ungewöhnlich dunkel. Er spürte nun auch einen Druck, einen Druck auf seinen Kopf, einen Druck den er nicht erklären konnte. Die Dunkelheit vereinnahmte alles draussen. Dort wo sonst andere Häußer, die Straße oder Gärten zu sehen waren, herrschte die Dunkelheit vor. Der Druck stieg immer weiter. Er konnte sich nicht erklären was dies zu bedeuten hatte. Neben dem Druck spürte er auch die Kälte, eine vertraute aber nicht freundliche Kälte. Er konnte immer noch nicht verstehen, was das alles bedeuten sollte. Mit einem Mal stieg der Druck ins Unendliche, er fürchtete sein Kopf würde brechen. Nun stieg wieder eine Wut in ihm auf, und er merkte wie er wieder langsam sein Bewusstsein verlor.

Eine kleines Haus in einem Vorort. Die Dunkelheit wurde stets größer, viele Schatten umgaben das Haus. Es leuchtete Hell, das Haus. So dunkel die Schatten auch waren, das Haus leuchtet immer hell. Es war, als würden die Schatten versuchen, das Licht auszulöschen. Es wurden immer mehr Schatten, die Dunkelheit vereinnahmte immer weitere Teile der Umgebung. Und dann, erst leise und dann immer lauter, konnte man ein Lied hören. Eine sehr vertraute Melodie, ein sehr angenehmer Klang. Mit einem Mal verschwanden die Schatten, alle. Die Sonne war wieder sichtbar, der Tag wunderschön.

Eduard war immer noch bewusstlos.

Wenn es Dunkel wird…

Stehe ich da, frage mich, denke. Warum alles nur so kommen konnte. Ich wusste doch alles. Wusste, wie es kommen würde. Wusste alles vorher. Wusste, dass die Brücke bricht, wenn ich auch nur einen Fuß darauf setzen würde. Was hielt mich davon ab? Nichts. Im Gegenteil, ich wollte es wissen, testen fühlen. Schmerz zeigt mir, dass ich lebe? Beileibe. Schmerz zeigt mir, dass ich fühle? Nur, warum muss ich das beweisen? Warum nur immer wieder der Wettstreit mit dem eigenen Ich, dem „ich habe es doch gewusst?“. Warum nur?

Alles konnte ich kommen sehen, alles war klar, kein Nebel. Es kam auch immer wie es kommen musste. Wie ist das zu verstehen?

Schließe deine Augen, lass die Dunkelheit ihren Raum einnehmen. Ist jemand da, bist du nicht allein, wirst du es spüren. Es ist keine Barriere da, es ist nur ein kleines Band. Ein kleines Band, eine kleine Verbindung. So stark, so intensiv, du spürst es. Nimmst es in dir auf, bildest das eine Ende des Bandes. Ziehst daran, um dem anderen Ende näher zu kommen, spürst wie es größer wird. Die Erwartung, die Sehnsucht, das Gefühl jemandem wichtig zu sein. Das Gefühl, auf der Welt einen Anker zu haben, eine Verbindung in die Realität. Nur was, wenn dieser Anker fehlt? Wenn ich immer stärker am Band ziehe und nichts kommt? Wenn auf ein Mal der Widerstand nachlässt und ich nur noch ein Band in den Händen halte? Nichts, nichts ist da?

Alles was bleibt Schmerz? Allgegenwärtig, Schmerz. Warum muss alles weh tun? Was ist nur kaputt?


So schwer?

Ich kann dich schon weit aus der Ferne erkennen. Deine Schritte, dein Gang, deine Haltung – alles das bist du. Ich kann dein Lachen hören, deine Augen sehen, deine Haut riechen. Meine Sehnsucht spür ich, und deine Arme um mich, spüre dein Herz ganz nah an mir. Spüre deine Wärme, spüre wie sie in mir aufgeht, mich glücklich macht. All‘ das ist mir so nah, du bist mir so nah. Und dann kommst du näher, schaust mich an, bohrst deinen Blick in meinen, dringst in mein Leben ein, reißt alle Mauern ein, pflügst jedes Feld um. Der Himmel wird dunkel, der Wind wird stärker. Immer stärker, der Sturm zieht auf. Unaufhaltsam, unnachgiebig. Mein Herz, ich seh’s noch klar, wie’s steht und zittert. Aber nicht lang, dann ist auf dem leeren Feld auch kein Herz mehr. Wo es ist? Der Sturm zerreist es, langsam, unaufhörlich, aber nie ganz, es hört nie auf. Du läufst an mir vorbei, der Sturm, der bleibt. Du, du bist weg.

No difference

The meal in front of her looked awkward. Some pasta, tomatos and olives. Canneloni Joanna. With thyme and marjoram. Well, obviously not carefully arranged but available near the kitchen. She ate, or more precise, she put fork after fork with pasta on it into her mouth. No one would have called that eating. It had a hint of doing what just simply is necessary to survive, or just because it made sense. Surely not because it was fun or satisfied her. Eventually, the plate was empty and she felt that bit of satisfaction that she hoped for. She put the plate in the dishwasher just next to all the other plates that told all the same story. Lonesome dinner, no guests, no candles, no fun and especially no Bill.

Days passed, dishwashers got filled, emptied, cleaned. It felt to her, if every day was a revision of its predecessor. Nothing happend, nothing changed. The mirror in her bathroom told her the truth – a full year had passed showing clear signs of the days that passed in her valley of sorrow.

She closed the dishwasher and prepared herself to leave for work. The car was ready, happy as always to provide a lift. Some days, she wondered if this state of her would ever change and if not, what she might do about that. She started the engine when unexpectedly her mobile phone rang. It was Susan. What migth that be?

Joan, are you well?

„Course I am. What’s wrong?“

„It’s Bill. He’s in hospital. Accident, pileup on the highway. They report him stable, he’s on first Newark intensive care unit.“

She could here Susan talking, for a long time. Calling Joan, everything ok. But it was distant. So distant. It was getting dark around her while a dull feeling made itself claiming room in her head. She lost all her power and collapsed along the center console and the co-drivers seat. Eyes still open, she lay there for nearly an hour. While she was recovering, she fumbled something on here messenger to inform Susan about not coming to work today. She was on autopilot and shifted the rear gear. Slowly leaving for street, carefully and slowly progressing on first gear on the street. Her mind was switched of, pictures of the landscape around her passed by. She only had one single thought, nothing else occupied her mind. She accelerated on the highway, maximum speed. Newark, 500 miles. The mobile ringed again and again, but she could not answer. She even couldn’t check who it was.

When she arrived in Newark, her fuel tank was nearly empty. She left the street for the first gas station and filled it up. Minutes later she was reading what was written in large, dark letters: „Newark First Hospital“. Here legs trembled. She could not tell what was waiting inside. There had not been a single bit of communication between them for nearly a year now. She could not tell whether she would recognize him. She even could not tell whether he would be happy to see here – in fact she feared the opposite.

The front desk told her a room number and asked for her relation to him. She just told being engaged with him. Seconds later, she stood in front of the door – the door that separated her from the man that both – was responsible for the best and the worst time of her life. She opened the door and entered the room.

Bill lay on the bed with so many cables and sleeves connected to him, she barely could recognize him. His breast moved mechanically up and down – steady and slowly. His eyes were shut. She moved slowly towards him, now so close she could grab his hand. Two nurses observed the displays of the medical equipment.

It was warm, but felt strangely relaxed. She could remember his strong hands very well and feeling no power within them felt distressing. She took a seat besides the bed still holding his hand. In the first few moments, it somehow felt good to be with him, the old power raised in her chest. But soon, every single part of her body completely lost its power and she collapsed once more on the floor.

She could not tell how long she was gone. She now was inside a different room, also observed by a nurse.

„Mrs. Ian, you passed out, but everything is ok. I guess it was a small shock. We need to keep you another hour, then you are allowed to leave your bed. Please just tell us if you need something. Your fiancé had a bad accident, but we are confident.“

She could feel some kind of sedative in here veins, which surely made her feel comfortable. She was a nice girl and waited an hour before she got up to get back to Bill. This time she was at least solid enough to not pass out again.

Bill still made no movement and still was under artificial respiration. It made her deeply sad to see him this way. But she took the decision to not let him go again – at least not now.

Nearly proximity

Work was finished. Leaving for home, she did not do anything conscious. Instead, everything just happenend, for whatever reason. Opening doors, saying good evening to colleagues, closing doors. Closing doors. Now that was even more unconscious. Walkling, breathing. What else. Smilling, wailing?

She opened the doors of her saloon. It was cold, summer long gone. Starting the engine, the heating did not yet cope with the temperatur. Rear gear, slowly moving. First forward, also slowly. No sound, no voice.

At home, she wondered how she made it there. Again, opening and closing doors. Heading for the sofa, mind still switched off. Trying not to think or even feel. Trying not to be.

Swichting on the TV, hoping for something to keep her switched off. No success. Panic. Channel number moving higher in frightening speed.

Finally, she got hit. Deep impact. No shield, no armor. Center hit, no protection. Vast damage, still counting casualities.

She felt terrible, was trembling. She didn’t count days anymore. Must have been several weeks now. No progress. Day by day she tried to somehow get by, but did not succeed a bit at all.

She felt that close, close to him like never before. Always she could smell him, feel his breath and his heartbeat. Always she had a feeling about the thoughts of him, of what he might do and where he might be. Admittedly, she knew everything about him which made it simple to at least know what he was about nearly every minute of a day. But she actually felt it. That was what made it worse, made it hurt like nothing else. Sometimes she feared thinking of him just because he might recognize. She knew that this was ridiculous. Well, she felt it. And that was the problem. In here mind, she was as close as it could be. Closing here eyes, it was like he was standing next to here, folding his arms around here. Opening here eyes he was not there. Not even in here proximity. So far away, sadly not only for the mere distance. He was gone, finished things up. Walked away, just in a moment were she could not grab him to restrain him.



Alles war weiß. Nur diese beiden Buchstaben waren dunkel und bedrohlich zu sehen. Es war kein Raum, völlig unbeschreiblich. Eine Kugel, nur weiß, mit einer ganz glatten Oberfläche. Er konnte sich nicht vorstellen, aus welchem Material das wohl sein könnte. Die Buchstaben fühlten sich gleich an, er konnte keinen Unterschied fühlen. Was sollte das? Was war das?

Mühsam und schmerzlich erinnerte er sich. Die Geschütze, die Kugeln, die Falle. Kurz hielt er inne – aber er konnte keine Geräusche hören. Stattdessen hörte er wieder diese Melodie. Er schloß die Augen und war überwältigt von dem Gefühl das er plötzlich spürte. Es war unbeschreiblich stark. Es raubte ihm den Atem, er konnte kaum noch stehen und setzte sich, ja legte sich sogar auf seinen Rücken. Die Melodie wurde etwas lauter. Seine Augen füllten sich mit Tränen, er konnte nicht anders. Sein Arme versuchte irgendetwas zu greifen, versuchte in seiner Kugel etwas zu fassen, etwas festzuhalten. Aber da war nichts. Die Melodie wurde leiser, immer leiser. Warum ging es nicht weiter? Er wurde wieder wütend. Sehr wütend. Die Melodie musste wieder kommen. Er summte sie nun selbst, so laut er konnte. Es war sehr laut und die weiße Kugel löste sich langsam auf. Sein Wut wurde immer größer und größer. Er versuchte die Melodie immer lauter und lauter zu summen, zu singen. Irgendwann verschwand die Kugel vollständig, aber auch alles andere um ihn. Das Gebäude verschwand, er konnte den Himmel wieder sehen. Er schrieh mittlerweile so laut, er konnte nichts anderes mehr hören. Tränen brachen aus seinen Augen, er musste immer lauter und lauter die Melodie singen. Das Gebäude war vollständig verschwunden, alle weiteren Gebäude ebenso. Um ihn herum breitete sich das Nichts aus. Er konnte sich nicht mehr halten und brüllte so laut er konnte. Er wollte unbedingt wieder die Melodie hören, aber es klappte nicht. Er wurde immer noch wütender. Plötzlich traten schwarze Gestalten in sein Sichtfeld. Viele, sehr viele. Sie hielten seltsame Lichter in den Händen, schwebten direkt auf ihn zu. Sie sahen bedrohlich aus, machtem ihm Angst. Er konnte die Kälte spüren die sie mit sich brachten. Die Dunkelheit, das Nichts, das Ende. Seine Wut war nun grenzenlos. Er verlor beinahe sein Bewusstsein, spürte den Druck und die Kälte der Gestalten immer stärker. Er steckte seine ganze Kraft in seinen Gesang. Es musste die ganze Welt hören, dachte er. Die Gestalten war nun so dicht bei ihm, dass sie festhalten konnten. Immer mehr Hände ergriffen ihn, an den Armen, den Beinen. Am Kopf, am Hals. Ihr Griff wurde stärker und war sehr kalt. Als seine Stimme leiser wurde, stieg seine Wut in die Unendlichkeit. Er summte nun eine ganz andere Melodie, mit roten Augen voll mit Tränen – und wurde wieder bewusstlos.