Life, in short.

He carries the corpse of a child in a huge bag on his back. He knows the boy really well, it is him from the past but he doesn’t remember when this kid died. All he can conclude is that it was a murder.
Drunk out of his skull to forget about the boy and escape the rotting smell he goes from one place to another with an unforgiving greed and a hardon that complements it all really well. This is growth as he was told and he is all grown up now.
Seventy summers pass and he forgets about the dead body on his back which is now nothing more than an odorless shriveled mass of elements – a rock whose name he has forgotten.
One day he stops at a place where there is absolutely nothing and nobody to be seen. He decides to rest and looks into his bag and at once his numbness melts and goes through an avalanche of emotions as he stares at the rock it contains. The face in the bag is his own which even best of the mirrors couldn’t show. This is where they meet – the ones who lived and the ones who didn’t, only to know that they were bound by this wall of time which seemed to divide them.
Memories now start coming back and he is running a violent fever, his wails cut through the still air that keeps him pinned down to where he sits but there is no one else to hear him. Despite all of this, crouched holding the bag, it is the first time he doesn’t feel alone.

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