Broken structures of silence, slowly growing into each other. Noise. A shadow jumps over the wall and falls in the corner. A leg, see-through pink. The hands straighten the torso over the blanket. Sees the clothes – cold, waiting. Then a corridor, a door, a staircase, a door, a street. The steps fade someplace behind. Through a window, the palm of a hand opens. The sparrows peck at crumbs. He passes by a man with a turned-up collar:

“Do you know where I’m walking to?”

“You look like someone who’s heading to town.”

“Am I not in town?”

“Undoubtedly you are, but actually, town is over there.”

Clouds in the puddles. Strangers, either sitting or in a hurry. Debris of ice.

“We’ve seen off the cold times,” stated the waiter.

“Do you know me?”

“Probably. If you’ve been here before.”

The woman in cream colours hides her side view, turns around, and comes closer.

“Hello! Is it free here?”

Quietness drops from a lock of hair above the eye, towards the wrinkles of the fabric.

“You have forgotten me.”

“Yes,” he says.

“It’s so fitting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says.

Her going away is slow, through the light.

Everyone knows it, but nobody goes there… Guidance follows. The smoothness of the pavement. Bricked-up windows. Blurred stony faces. All of a sudden, he stops. A boy comes out of the shadows. Slanting beams pierce through the back of a faraway building. A ball rolls after its sound…

Twilight in the frame of a window. Steps behind the visible. A presentiment, a memory, a familiar voice:

“They are waiting for you.”

Blindly on the stairs. Thumps into a door:

“Come in!”

Touches the wall.

“We won’t see him, it’s a pity,” the voice continues.

“But we can touch him, right?” the other one, linked with the palm.

The choking warmth of a lap.

“My dear ones!”

“Shhh! They will hear us. You have to go!”

The man with the turned-up collar— still clearly distinguishable on his street:

“Why are you coming back?”

Lighted windows. A door, a staircase, a door, a hallway. The mourners are already there. He can run but he finds his bed. He sees them hanging over him and remains delighted how chorally they intertwine their voices:

“Sleep! Tomorrow you will wake up again.”

Valeri Stanoevich is a former engineer and forensic expert. A male from Bulgaria (he/him). He doesn’t like displaying. He thinks that one should remain in the shadow of his deeds. Author of the e-book of short stories Fancy Shop (grotesque and slipstream) about hidden beyond the visibility of things.

About the illustrator: Bill Wolak is a poet, collage artist, and photographer who has just published his eighteenth book of poetry titled All the Wind’s Unfinished Kisses (Ekstasis Editions).  His collages and photographs have appeared recently in the 2024 Dirty Show in Detroit, the 2024 Rochester Erotic Arts Festival, the 2020 International Festival of Erotic Arts (Chile), the 2020 Seattle Erotic Art Festival, the 2018 Montreal Erotic Art Festival, and Naked in New Hope 2018. He was a featured artist in the book Best of Erotic Art (London, 2022).