Beyond Death

×Chapter Three×

Exiting the flat he was living in, Ivan found himself standing in front of the ever so busy sidewalk he has spied for the last 5 days. Looking at them from this perspective, the men, women and children looked much more fake, as if they were made out of plastic, cardboard or clay. Back from his apartment, the people looked just like a bunch of toys, Nikolai would try to guess their backstories and thoughts. From down here, it's much easier to take a guess at their mind's contents. Everyone's face was composed of lines, arching around the nose and cheeks, then straightening on their foreheads and falling down onto their cheeks, parallel to the arching ones. Not a single frown though, all of them were either happy or emotionless, this perplexed Ivanov, making him ask himself if he's the only one with emotions. Are these people always happy? That's what their faces portrayed. The men were standing tall, looking forward, grinning or laughing loudly with their friends, Ivan on the other hand, walked beside them with a small hunch on his back and his face constantly switching it's glare from the ground to the faces. The women looked sophisticated, most of them showed apathy, but for what reason? Were they suffering? In that very moment, Nikolai felt a sudden rage build up inside his body, the cauldron inside him began boiling the blood, and Ivan helplessly kept stirring it with an iron blade. If he were to unleash all of his suffering, pain, all of the misfortunes he's felt, everyone's unlucky past would become, all of a sudden, much happier. But at the end of the day, what for? Why did this cosmical rage build up inside Ivan? Mentally exhausted and physically unfit, Nikolai sat down on a nearby bench to further his meditation. He continued to look at the people's happy faces, they were all laughing as if to mock him, his pettiness, the mere existence of Ivan wasn't as important as theirs. Will Nikolaevici Ivanov ever be happy? A small droplet fell down Ivan's cheek, leaving a burning sensation on his delicate and feminine skin, he could hear all the screaming and yelling from the tear diminishing as it kept lingering on his cheek. It wasn't until long when the sunset came, but Ivan still stood on the bench. The number of pedestrians began declining, now he could only see adolescents, and later he was alone in the darkest night he has ever seen. The street lamps were only illuminating the sidewalk in front of Ivan, while he was standing in the back of the light, looking at it helplessly.