Warning: Violence takes place in this little fantasy.


Young person in a brown room. Cement?

Who knows. In any case, nothing looks very modern.

All these thoughts that are circling this person’s head are still driving him insane.

Or her ?

Nobody knows this person’s name.

Does she even live in that brown room? It’s not the ground floor. So it might be on the first floor.

A room. A small room with no furniture. The light shines with all the effort it takes to get into the dark, dark room.

The rotten wood on the window doesn’t let shine too much light on the floor, on the ceilings, and on the brown, dusty, sandy walls. But with all the little light that comes into this room almost everywhere, in tiny amounts, this person is just sitting in the corner of the darkest light. She doesn’t seem to be breathing. Everything she does … seems … only to exist.

It just exists. Has she ever seen a neighbor walk out of this room? Through the very narrow hallway decorated with exotic plants and paintings, then down the wooden stairs, you finally get to the small, cozy market inside the building.

People are shouting and bragging about their best offers, there are tables where cards are played, but others find it too easy and they are inventing a board game with black and white funny-shaped pieces.

Delicious dates are eaten, but some people ask for more and more of this sweet fruit, but are then quickly distracted by the delicious smelling lamb that is being roasted on a stand outside the building. Men pay women, men pay men. Women also pay, but more than they have to. Paying is just a dance. All the people are talking.

In Arabic? Or are there other languages? Can people only speak Arabic? The young person, this completely normal person, wonders such normal things in this room, this completely normal room. Without furniture. Has she ever been lying on a real bed at all?

Suddenly she whispers: „… a?“. The conversation between the people, however, covers her delicate voice very much. Too much. She doesn’t even hear a single word of what she’s thinking in her head anymore.

Women’s voices suddenly laugh out loud, there are several. Soldiers patrol the streets with heavy steps, with pointed helmets and iron, pointed, loudly clinking armor. Her hand is always on the weapon that hangs in the shaft, on her belt. Covered with red robes underneath, the armor is not really protective, an aimed shot and the rest of the soldiers flee. The girl in the room suddenly gets up.

It thinks. She thinks: „What am I anyway?“

Below her, in the still very busy market, suddenly dies a man wearing a dark red headscarf, a free beer belly, which is only covered on the sides by a sailor’s vest made of rough, blue, cheap fabric with holes for the arms, and gray trousers and Sandals made of similarly cheap fabric. Everyone around him suddenly stopped talking.

As usual, nothing could be heard on the upper floor.

Wait, is there a noise? Wasn’t just there just a giggle? Probably just imagination.

They gathered around the man who was having fun, was so happy, had enjoyed the moment so much, and watched him go for a while. Then, after a few understandable winks and gestures, three men carried him away like a heavy stone that had fallen out of nowhere onto the shady place, and the joy continued.

The man didn’t have many friends. He was alone on the square and enjoyed the dates, the good atmosphere, the many people, the good food and the good life.

And then a shot. A quiet shot. Who knows where it came from. That’s what his killer thought too.

The point of the blade was so fine that no injuries could be seen. The blood loss was barely noticeable, but the man had had a small sting on his back for a long time. „That’s probably nothing,“ he thought to himself 5 hours before he died. That was, while he was still being alive and happy as a traveler finding his way into the big city.

When he was still alive. The man didn’t have many friends back then. Strictly speaking, only one. A single one.

He wanted to visit him today after he had settled in the city a bit. His name was Petitio. The traveler still owed him money.

The girl who murdered the traveler now stood in this brown room and wondered when he would finally be there. For the first time she opened the wooden, dark green, dust-covered wooden shutters that opened inward. All the other shutters in the street opened outwards. And they weren’t dark green either. Only hers opened inwards.

She looked for her name. Then the light found her. It shone. It was happy to finally be able to irradiate her face with all its splendor. Her body was slim and sporty, the light was astonished. She was hardly outside, wasn’t she?

The girl looked around in the street and saw the three men who were carrying away the stone. She smiled.
That disgusted the light. It wouldn’t have expected that of her.

Finally Petitio came behind the girl and asked her: „Ain’t that enough, Sica?“.

Then, with a deep powerful and very loud voice, that nobody outside would have ever heard, he ordered:

„Quit playing around and get to work!“

Sica, still playful and in the darkest of lights in this room, turned around slowly.

The room, with brown sandy walls and no furniture, was cool and mysterious. So Sica gave him a mysterious smile. And then , as always, she swapped places with Petitio.


Hey,

I wanted to tell another little, completely fantastic story. There may still be some philosophical elements to be recognized, too, but these were not the main reason for writing.

As always, if you can provide more interpretative approaches, I would be very happy to receive a comment.

So, until then, I wish you all a wonderful day, stay curious, and …

Thank you for reading!

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