Different Story

How could he have guessed he'd meet so much? Of course there was no pink dreams, but coal black was not the future. He felt at the edge of the cliff and forced himself to open his eyes. He said he came by here but he knew one side that he was moving slowly there.

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He had hitherto mumbled, but perhaps had not had the guts to jump. The fear and indecision that he was experiencing at the edge of the plane seemed to be burning off the edge of a sheet of paper and still protecting the surface of the paper. His silhouette was just there when he was on his way back to the fire place.

The last remaining power of these thoughts to run out and leave itself completely. When he surrendered, he realized he was starting to fall more slowly. It was getting less and less light.

When he opened his eyes he saw that he was thrown in the same way as a scallop belonging to a huge bird, and that he was floating in the air, making the same movements. I closed his eyes again, though this was though only because I could have imagined. Suddenly he felt the breeze cut off and his hair began to swing down again. And he stiffly collapsed like a sack on the sand.

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Everywhere was sand; he spat, sneezed and tears in his eyes. He could not get up for a while because he did not jump into life. When the ants started climbing, he realized that he was really alive and could only get up. There were long long paths that surpassed the hills while in front of an infinite sea.

But he was the only one who could see them