Misha worked in a data center. What would be left of his work in ten years, in a hundred years? Nothing. In a few years, the computer files he spent his days working on would be archived and, eventually, deleted. His name would eventually disappear from the applications. Someone else would take his place, then the whole team would be renewed and there would be no one to remember him.
That evening, on the internet, the algorithms proposed several videos, including one of the Apollo 11 mission. On the original images, one could not really see the first steps on the Moon. So they had made an editing, added comments and images. All this to make us understand that it took one step for a man to enter history. One step to make his name immortal.
Misha turned off the computer. It only reminded him of his uselessness in existence. He was only a manager, not a creator or an astronaut. His name would never be printed in the history books. He grabbed his coat and went outside.
His steps led him near the tree-lined river. His thoughts slowly led him to consider the irreparable. After all, who would care if he disappeared. He knew well how it happened. Maybe there would be a line in the newspaper and on the company's intranet site. And then other news would chase away the reference to his disappearance: a new manager, new job offers, the good wishes of the new manager...
The moon was full and its image was reflected in the water. Misha bent down. Suddenly he noticed a presence and was startled:
- You scared me!
The man was right next to him, tall and thin. He was an ageless man:
- It was you who frightened me.
Misha lowered his eyes. He didn't dare look at him. He even had the impression that he knew him. After a long moment the stranger pointed to the moon:
- See. The waters of the river do not carry away the reflection of the Moon.
- What do you mean?
Misha tried to understand, but he couldn't. It was as if he was in the middle of quicksand. The more he tried to understand, the more the meaning escaped him.
- Thoughts and emotions are like the waters of the river.
At the same time a gust of wind raised a cloud of dust. It was then that he had a revelation. It was so simple. He turned to the ageless man but he had disappeared. He looked around. Then Misha remembered where he had seen him. He was sure it was in a dream. Many times it had happened. The ageless man wanted to talk to him, but he could not understand what he was saying.
He returned home. His morbid thoughts also vanished. His steps were lighter. He was weightless. He sat down at his desk. In the top drawer there was a notebook. He wanted to write, to tell what had happened to him, that sometimes there are good mirages. He should look for the reflection of the Moon in everything now, he knew. The only thing that mattered to him was to keep his inner peace.
That evening he had been reborn.
