Sometimes I come and sit beside my own corpse; quietly. When all the city's lampposts ignite one by one, the conversation begins.
: But I haven't died! Who are you? Where are you dragging me like this? By what right? Let go, I tell you... let go of me! Don't you dare, don't touch me! This body is mine!
(He didn't listen to me. With cold indifference, he kept pulling and hauling me away somewhere!)
: I work so hard to make a living. I stay right here. One day they all ganged up on me and threw me into darkness. They wounded my whole body with knife after knife. Then they cut off my hands, cut off my feet. They don't know me; I don't know them either.
(Suddenly I don't know what came over him. Both his voice and temper dropped much lower.)
: Will you lend me half your body? I just want to live one more time! Or your two hands... at the very least, your feet...? I want to go search for my wife and children.
: Then you'd need these eyes too, wouldn't you?
: No no, I won't need them! I won't need eyes! I don't want to see blood! Just hands and feet will do; they'll do the seeing for me!
Whatever he needs, I give it all to him, one piece at a time... forever.
In the next moment I see he's not there. He's gone somewhere! He's lost himself in a lake of darkness, carrying his own corpse with his own hands.
I remain there. Before my eyes, my own dead eyes stay stubbornly awake. Under their terrible weight, try as I might, I cannot die.
Everyone is one! Everyone's road is one! ... Someone comes and stands right in the middle of the path, screaming these two sentences.
Then everything goes dark. I look up at the sky and see there is no sky there, only smoke.