Reflections

The question was slightly naïve, like everything else he asked. It was a question that surprised even a small child. For it was as if he had wondered and asked himself the same question. What will happen now? Nicholas did not answer that question in any way. But it was clear that the tears in his eyes gave more of an answer than his ability to speak. Along with the voice of tears, along a narrow road that branched off in different directions, their journey for the day stopped in front of a very old, half-destroyed house.

It was just a one-story house with a low fence. It was the last palace where Adelard continued to fall down, leaving the whole "perfect" society above him.

"Adelard? Adelard!" Nicholas said his name loudly as he stared at the broken window across the street.

"What happened to this place?"

"My friend is dying. So I don't think he cares about any of this. Come," Nicholas said with sadness in his voice and opened the thin wooden door which seemed about to fall down. Adelard looked back at the bright lights of the town, at the happy voices of the people, and turning away, he realized that his whole life was starting over.

Among the four walls, where there was only one couch and one chair, Adelard tried to find the strength to sleep. But all he saw in front of him were white walls with mold. On a couch that was ready to break at any second, he could clearly see spiders and cockroaches walking everywhere. Their little feet seemed to step on his skin, on his face as well. With his legs pressed against his face, he was ready to believe in any miracle, like a little child. But the only miracle at the moment was Armand, who was sleeping peacefully on the couch with the smell of a dying old man.

The wooden floors creaked by themselves, as if ghosts were walking across them, frightening the new guest. And then again, in the far corner of the room, the floor creaked again and the creaking continued all the way to the door. Someone had left the house, leaving the damp air behind the closed door.

There were only two rooms in the house. In the other room was a dying man who was coughing loudly and sometimes screaming in pain. And from these cries, the thin walls of the house shook, creating doubt in Adelard's soul. He looked up at the ceiling in disbelief, expecting to experience the same pain or the need to flee at any second. He could not, after all, allow his life to end in such a way. Under the weight of the ceiling that collapsed with the arrival of death. No, death was only for one man here. And Adelard had decided long ago that he would not put his hands down, would not seek solace in the arms of death. "What did I do?" he asked, and in response the wooden floor creaked again.

"Did you say something?" Nicholas asked, returning from the dying man's room.

"How is he?"

"Dying."

"Is he a friend of yours? You never told me about him."

"Yes. We've known each other a long time."

In the moonlight looking at Armand's peaceful face, Nicholas sighed and said, "I've always been afraid of that."

"Of what?"

"That this world will destroy you."

His words made Adelard nervous. Fidgeting, sensing injustice and feeling the worst fear, Adelard replied, "You always talk like you know everything about everything."

"Yes. I couldn't keep you out of this world. Although, I made a vow to your mother that I would."

Adelard was silent. Watching the tree branches play with the rays of the moon, drawing patterns on the floor, he stopped thinking about anything. Nicholas sat down beside him. Sighing heavily, he said, "I found out about everything."

"What did you find out about?"

"It was Celeste's original plan. But she couldn't have done it alone. Jean helped her. They're together, you know? They took everything from you together."

Such a simple explanation for everything surprised Adelard. Those words had everything he wanted to hear. And those words struck harder than anything else. Those words destroyed him. They slowly began to break his soul, his heart. He became crystal, fragile, with a glass heart that slowly shattered against the iron surface of the truth.

"Your best friend was planning everything too. And then Celeste made you love her. They used love to destroy you."

"When did she throw you out of the house?"

"I don't remember anymore. A lot of things happened. But I do remember one night, we all ended up outside the house."

"It's my fault."

"No. It's my fault," Nicholas said, covering his face with both hands, squeezing the apples of his eyes.

"I need to wash my face," Adelard said and slowly rose to his feet. In the moonlight, without noticing all the beauty, Adelard remembered all the times he had been with Celeste. He remembered everything. Every kiss, every word. And those memories quickly turned into moments with Jean. Perhaps the thought of Jean brought more pain than Celeste. He couldn't believe that his best friend, and maybe more, had done all this to him. He refused to believe it. Like a wild animal that suddenly found itself in a cage. The truth became a cage to him. And he had not the slightest hope of breaking free. Truth, in the form of Jean stood before him. With strong shoulders, closing Celeste.