2020
At dawn, when the greenish-red darkness is still hanging over the city, I watch the snoozing city through the clouded kitchen window. A light is on in one of the other windows of the surrounding houses. However, what goes on inside cannot be seen. It looks white. I don't turn on the light – I don't want to disturb the peacefulness of the dark, maybe just to brush my teeth. I look out over the jagged cityscape and see a star shining on the eastern side, slightly brighter than the others. The thought occurs to me: this is the coldest star. Or maybe a planet? It does not matter. Let it be a star. For whom it shines.
...
A small, well-built brick house stood on the edge of the hospital grounds. The windows of the house were small, painted almost to the top with white enamel paint. A dull, whitish light streamed in through the glass and paint. Inside, it was quiet, with only the radio playing very softly. I thought there was a secret behind that white painted glass. Something curious and uneasy. Those on the other side of the glass seem to know what I don’t. At the same time, a hesitation arose – is it possible for me to know what I sensed they knew? Maybe it’s not a coincidence that the windows are painted? The infinite desire to know doesn’t always lead to where you want to be. An unbridled imagination can take you even further.
That was in childhood. Later, someone told me that the building is used for autopsies on dead people.
