"Emptiness is but a poor imitation of loneliness, and my life feels like a smoking gun."
The faint sound of singing awakened Bologue; he opened his eyes, finding himself lying on the sofa, the outside dim and snowflakes drifting down.
Bologue felt like he had been lying here for many days, yet it also felt like just a short moment.
The radio was playing a program hosted by someone named Dudel, a music segment that resonated within the narrow room. Bologue quite liked this song, humming along as it played.
"Nameless ghosts are burning, repeating the same words over and over."
Footsteps approached; the elder carried a tray of cookies that Bologue loved and came to his side.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
"Not bad," Bologue thought for a moment, "I feel like I had a dream, a long one."
"What did you dream about?"
"I can't quite recall," Bologue hesitated, "but I feel like I've forgotten something?"
"You can't remember?"
"Hmm."
