#1

The city sleeps. A secluded alleyway, an old counseling center, a basement room. The damp air is filled with the smell of mold and old paper. The walls are lined with books, their spines covered in dust. It feels as if the pages are turning by themselves. There are no fluorescent lights, only a small candle on the table illuminating the space. The flickering light casts long shadows. A pale-faced man sits before the candle. An arsonist. Across from him, a figure whose face is hidden in shadow. An existence that melts into the darkness like a shadow. The figure in the shadows (whispering) “...Do you dream these days?” The arsonist flinches. His eyes flicker uneasily. He repeatedly clenches and unclenches his hands on his knees. Arsonist “No. No. I don’t think about anything. I just feel... empty.” Silence. The air grows heavier, and the candle flickers more violently. The figure in the shadows “Emptiness is a good sign. Most people compromise before they feel empty. You are still resisting.” The arsonist lowers his head. His expression betrays confusion and helplessness. Translated with DeepL.com (free version)