Melatonin
Everything is quiet. The wind blows lightly through the open window, with a distant howl, but I cannot really call this a lively sound. It is more like a droning chorus. The constant flow of reality marking its presence in a plane beyond the one where resides the silence. I get up from bed and approach the open window. The horizon is pure darkness, not even silhouettes. The street in front of my house is sparsely lit by the orange glow of lampposts. A strange type of light. Bright and almost blinding up close, emitting a warm aura through the darkness. Never really intruding through it, only pushing it away temporarily. The lamppost in front of my house turns off in an interval of twenty seconds each. I count again. That is correct, twenty seconds. Nothing, really. It is not a very symbolic number, neither a very interesting one visually. Just twenty. The original color of the days tinted in different shades of orange, the shadows immobile and strangely empty.
The blinds swaying back and forth left and right, up and down, in a slow pace, almost lethargic. I look for something in the darkness, some kind of bright point in the sky. No stars. Only a lonely red light, blinking in the top of a communication tower. Someone in the streets, walking. A girl. Only a black silhouette. She looks at me. Cannot see her face, neither her expression. Just a black canvas, staring back at me. Do I feel anything in her stare? No, I do not. It is blank, from what I can tell. Empty, like the streets. Like the horizon.
"Are you looking for something?"
Her voice is soft, almost like the howl of the wind. Her clothes, maybe a bit too big, swaying lightly. Same for her hair, down to her shoulders. I wonder what she means to know with my response. Aside from the question, that is. Why did she even ask it? Is she going somewhere? Do I know her? It is strange, really. I start to wonder myself why I am starting to ask so many questions.
"Yes, I think so."
My voice emanates from my mouth, but the words do not belong to me. I cannot say why, but they do not strike me as something familiar. As something, that I wanted to say, as something that wandered my mind.
"You think so?" She asks back. There is a light speck of humor in her voice. "Looking for something so you can say you found something, is that it?"
"I think so." I respond, with a light chuckle. These words belong to me.
She walks across the road and approaches the lawn. Her footsteps muffled by the low grass, step by step, in a very deliberated pace. I can see faintly the outlines of her face. Small eyes and dark strands of hair obscuring them. Small lips curved in a faint smile. She stops, looking through the window from outside, at me.
"Nice backyard." She says.
"Well, It’s quite an yard, really. Can't really say it's back, though." I respond.
"Pardon me, will ya? Just a slip of the tongue. Anyway, do you think I should introduce myself?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Well, I mean, it would be a waste if you weren't interested in it, wouldn't it?"
"If that's what's bugging you, then I am interested. Who are you?"
She shakes her left hand in the hair, like a wet dog after a bath, the rest of her body unmoving. Then she does the same with her right hand. A strange gesture. I wonder what she is shaking off.
"Name's Ilia." She says. Her voice echoes through the silence.
"Ailia?"
"No, no, I-l-i-a. You pronounce it the way it's written."
"Ilia?"
"Yep, that's it." She taps her forehead with her right index finger. "And who are you?"
"I'm nameless."
"Har, har. What a mysterious fella, huh?"
"I'm not kidding, though. I'm really nameless."
"Are you saying you don't have a name or are you saying that your name is nameless? If it's the second, I'm going to say it, that's a really stupid joke..."
"Nah, it's nothing like that. I just do not have a name, really. I used to be a Crimson Wanderer, you see."
Her face lights up. Not literally, of course, the darkness is still there, but her expression is somewhat looser now.
"Well, that's quite a coincidence, really." She says, in an incredulous tone. "I'm a dream wanderer, myself."
These kind of things are dead, now. You know violence and the things that bring violence. The twilight of the world is pretty near, anyway. Nothing will change that. Blood dries and then loses its original life. It does not bring anything back alive. It just dries, tinting the pavement. In the darkness, pretty much another shadow, this one made by human hands.
Warm water emanating a faint line of white smoke. Almost like the tip of the cigars that an old friend used to smoke. This one, though, is much more comfortable. It does not dries up the nose neither makes you cough. It is only warmness.
"You know..." I ask, putting the cloth filter over the kettle. "I didn't ask if you liked coffee, did I?"
The girl, sitting in a wooden chair at the dining table, looks up from her lap.
"I don't dislike it." She says, in an indifferent tone. "I do prefer tea, though. No, I am not a posh, thank you."
"I didn't say anything, though."
"You were about to."
I fill two cups. I sit in a chair in front of her and give her the other cup. She takes a sip and sighs, satisfied.
"Are the dream hunters still running around?" I ask, taking a sip.
"Not really running nowadays." She responds. "Things are pretty stable already. They are concentrated on the Babylon tower these days. There is no nightmares anymore, neither its inhabitants. It has been a while since we have heard about ghosts in tapes, overloaded memories flow, these kinds of thing, you know. People already accepted the end, I think."
"You think that's good?"
"I don’t know. What do you think?"
"I don't know either. Cannot really feel anything with the thought. Strange, really."
"I guess we can't just care anymore, huh? It's going to end, so no need for answers anymore."
"We do need the questions, still."
"Yes that we do."
She takes another sip, silently.