FugueHe was seated at his desk studying his books. The cold white light from the lamp on the table was the only light in the whole house. It wasn’t still particularly late, but everyone was already asleep; everyone but him. Beyond the closed shutters were the city and the night. The small orange dots from the street lamps were scattered all over the landscape, like morsels of hope fallen from some unknown Heaven.
But inside his home there was no hope. He and his books stood by the white light like strange planets orbiting a lone star. Beyond them, there was only vacuum and cold.
It was this lifelessness that teased him.
He could sense the black holes hiding on the corners, camouflaging in the blackness of the corridor, like octopuses waiting to capture their preys.
He knew he didn’t have a chance if he just stood there, letting the empty space creep upon his back, to consume and dissolve his body in its bosom. No. It still wasn’t time to go to bed. He refused. He wasn
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