Грань будущего

           Trappedinacruel,unendingnightmare,youronlythoughtswereforthem.Youcouldn’tbeartoloseevenoneofthem,nomatterwho.

           Redwasyourcolor,yoursandyoursalone.Itshouldrestwithyou.IwillpaintmyJacketskyblue,thecoloryoutoldmeyoulovedwhenwefirstmet.Inafieldofamillionsoldiers,Iwillstandoutfromalltherest,alightningrodfortheenemy’sattacks.Iwillbetheirtarget.

           Isatthereforsometimeholdingthelastcupofcoffeeshe’devermade,forsomeoneshe’dbarelyknown.Itsthinaromastirredinmeaninsufferablelongingandsadness.Asmallcolonyofblue-greenmoldbobbedonthesurfaceofthecoffee.Raisingthecuptomylips,Idrank.