I'd like to retell you a chance encounter I had not too long ago.
It happened on a windy, autumn evening. As I was walking through the old city center of Our Town, it started raining. Normally, I wouldn't pay it much attention, but I bought a new coat just yesterday and, fearing that it might get damaged, I quickly scurried to a nearby store that sold raincoats – an umbrella would be useless in the wind. I paid, put the raincoat over my dear new coat and planned to quickly walk to the nearest tram stop to get home.
It is May 3rd 1940. I rushed to my study to write these words as soon as possible, for I do not have much time left.
The insanity of man is upon me.
This is the 15th night I have woken up from the same nightmare. The previous days, I ignored the sweat,
tears and shaking upon regaining my consciousness, but today I cannot bear it any longer.
The nightmare is becoming so vivid, I am starting to question what is the true reality.
It all starts when my wife and I go to bed in the evening.
“Is it really okay for us to be here?”
I ask, my voice trembling as we pass a ‘Private property! Keep out!’ sign. She just glances at me over her shoulder and keeps moving on, slowly, yet with no hesitation in her step.
“What, are you scared of a sign? Don’t worry – no one comes here, there are no guards nor cameras either.”
She exhales.
“Were you always such a coward?”
“That tickles.”
She chuckles and shifts a bit in her seat.
The touch of the brush's bristles send shivers down her spine, but she tries to endure it.
I give her a faint kiss on her shoulder.
“I know it does, but hey, you agreed to it.”
She nods and I continue painting.