“I don’t want to go there!”
Jim sped up across the room, he was in a hurry, a flurry of thoughts rushing across his head which manifested the various contortions visible on his face, it seemed something bothered him beyond his control, for he kept fidgeting with his fingers. It rained outside, a sad rain,that gloom which showered blues and drowned in worry those victims of sadness and killed them, slow enough to inspire misery in its subjects and drain them of their illicit (for they were failures) hope and happiness, which they clasped dearly, for that’s all they had with them left to merry their rotten lives in that abyss of blackness which had an opening smiling cruelly upon them as stars in the nightsky that winked those travelers of the dark, but these prisoners of darkness couldn’t reach anywhere, being surrounded by those vile spirits of perdition, they moved in the blind darkness with the only source of light that rascal hole above.
The angel, sitting by the firelight near the hearth, said:
“You have no choice.”
“Still, I don’t want to go.” Jim pulled his hair with both his hands and stopped. And then paced up and down the room again.
“Repeating it won’t change things.”
“Then what will?”
“You know the answer.”
“Frost said “The best way out is always through.””
“Well, then, you shouldn’t be bothered at all.”
There was blood in his stare. “Bothered?” he thought, “Na! A corpse, a zombie, a shade, a lost spirit, a pagan, yes, but bothered? That he was not.”
“What do I do?”
“What everybody does: go with the flow.” she sighed, and stared into the fire.
“Or face resistance?”
“Harder than you can imagine, boy!” she rejoined.
“What’s it matter anyway, it’s unbearable enough already.”
“Tell me if there’s a point talking you?”
“Yea don’t, just don’t do it, I won’t listen to you, after all.”
“You rather make it clear that you cannot deny Authority.”
“To hell with such authority” he shot back while in his head rang a deep and distant “What? Will you change the system?!”
“Do whatever you want then, but let it be very straight that it’ll all be your responsibility.”
He stopped again, rooted to the spot, his stare fixed at the drab painting on the wall that showed a woman in the abstract, while inside his head rang another voice, a shrill voice, mocking his existence it felt:
“It’s your fault then, you didn’t know, you couldn’t decide! All your fault!”
And the voice laughed and echoed from everywhere, with different tones and at last fainted. A fury gripped him, he imagined violent images, fierce red images and saw himself shrieking hoarse:
“Not my fault! No! Not all of it!” again and again.
The pact with the angel, that he could not shout, worked its way through to the front and he buried the grief deeper and returned to face the angel
“Yea, my fault”
“responsibility. Don’t mix things.”
“But it’s all the same, isn’t it?”
“Do not mix things, it will cost you dearly.”
“What’s there left to lose.”
“A lot yet.”
“Then tell me what do I do?”
“I just did.”
“Be servile?”
“Insofar necessary.”
He could see the sense behind the enigmatic utterances of the angel but was overwhelmed with them and her indifference, but then again, it was all his burden, the burden of life.
“I’d rather…”
“Rathers aren’t a choice, boy.” she cut across and continued,
“What’s your conclusion then?”
“What conclusion, if this has to go smooth, there have to be compromises.”
“Well, the poet said “Like the cat i’the adage.”
“Do I look the cat?”
He was the cat, but she did not tell him that.
“But I can have a sweet revenge.” he said thoughtfully with his face contorting into the devil’s.
“James, it will kill you with this psyche, or worse…”
“Yes, the worse.” he smiled bitterly, turned and leaving the room, taking his hat from the little round table by the door, ran into the black night, while it rained still. The angel sat pondering over the fate of the boy, helpless and indifferent.


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