I had a walk last night, just around the house, no place far. It might seem funny, but I have the ability to recognize the whole mood of the avenues right after I step out of the apartment door. I use lights and check their brightness, I guess.

I rambled toward the main street, keeping hands in the jacket’s pocket and breathing like a choking bird behind the mask. Right in front, there was a closed opening door of a big store, and under the pouring rain, I gazed at the passing cars, abandoning my sight with a constant and slow, like a mournful hearse.

People looked liked soldiers under the most massive attack, hidden inside their portable trenches, moving fast and angry. These days, each person is a shadow passing by the others. You can’t catch their faces anymore.
I arrived at the main street, looking at the surroundings for a moment. I saw more passing and stable lights. Neon lamps were more blinding than ever. I could see death, crossing the street shoulder to shoulder with me.

After finding an empty walking line, I decided to listen to some music. I chose “The Songs for a Dead Pilot” by Low and tried to look at things the way I do all the time. Because of reading Dostoevsky all day long, I pictured myself as a spiteful man drowning in anger, hate, and revenge. I person who does not mean any harm, and that is why he tortures himself; a fly among the crowds, an unexpected guest to a gathering which he didn’t want to come. Each person seemed suspiciously mysterious. I fantasized about them when they are alone, crawling in their ignorance and dancing with their pains. I felt myself far from any human attachment. I could see in their fogged eyes that I am a threat to their well-being, and actually, they were scary to me too.

While walking pointlessly among the deserted allies, I scared a cat away. Without any intention. When I looked into its eyes, it seemed to me as the truthfully fear I have seen in a long time. It was honestly scared and, had no reason to hide it. It stared at me while covering its fragile little body under a tree and, I felt dead guilty. I walked away and didn’t look back. Although, I was pondering over the fact that these cats do not need to be scared of us anymore. They can walk past us while keeping their heads up and look at us with a sense of shame and humiliation. They can gather around, embrace each other, even fight fearlessly for a piece of meat. They can be different, act different, or scare of diverse things. Do they know, or even need to know, who others might steal your individuality?

I walked to my gathering place with my comrades. The cafe was closed, and the iron bars were well attached. The wooden sign of the cafe was touring apart. Each drop of the rain was hitting the sign brutally with all of its power. I lingered there a while, then found myself on the way home. I thought about the future along the walk. I didn’t look at others anymore.

A young writer from Iran. (www.danialamari.com)