The Border
When the train arrived, he felt alone, ethereal. Who was he? He was aware of his own hands and fingers, of the skin under them…, maybe much more.
His corpse was in front of him, again strange… past and future.
The cops were around the crowded station -sirens and lights-.., he could fly now, among sounds and skins. Ten o’clock, too late, foggy night. It happened on the third wagon.
-I was waiting for you, my old friend.
Cloudy silent screams.
His voice was ringing familiar like a dark memory, like the bells were sounding broken in his own unreachable dream. He recognized this voice tone, this fury. How could it be? When? He turned his face off, with a brilliant movement of his eyes, come, come… There are shadows, again and again, still beyond the window. Something was watching them.
-Time is over, David.
He knew it: the shadow always knew the future like every soul knows the past. He slides the knife along his face, no more fear.
-You knew it before it happened.
The last thing he saw it was his own shape with veins and struggles…, he saw the past along the ghost… Look at your eyes, look deeply, time is over.
He left the wagon and his corpse, waiting for the next station, waiting for him. He could watch now all souls, splitting in two, in the bloody past.
Why? I was there, near the border.
