The night was falling. The moon was white as usual. The walls were white as usual.

Xander left before dinner. He left with a depressed face, unsure of my situation or his situation, since he left his work from the museum 2 hours early to get me to the hospital, and I could see his fear inside his eyes.

The ward was nearly empty, except for two patients sitting on their beds, wearing the same dull-colored clothing as I did. They looked like entirely normal, not a single disease disturbing them. One of them was holding a notebook and a pen, writing, and stopping, continuously. I was curious about what he was writing, but I could not get on the ground. So I shouted across the room.

“Hey you. What are you writing?”

“You want to see?” A smile appeared on his face. It was like a long-forgotten smile, one that was found after 40 years of wandering. He got off his bed and brought his book to my bedside. On the book were some verses of a poem.

The Palace

Behind the rocks were some rich land

Ruled by a worthy king

His ministers, his worthy hand

And all the people sing

A feast of man’s desiring

The king, whose wealth a mountain high

Did live in a cottage hut

It was not huge, but satisfy

His need, with no door to shut

And dinner only a nut

The kingdom flourished and life was good

Until a sudden shock

The king, for twenty years he stood

Had fallen against a tiny rock

While the prince behind did mock

He got the crown and all behold

For ruthless days would come

He ordered them to build with gold

And pour the pools with rum

The wealthy kingdom gone to scum

Alas the palace finished in tears

And nobles danced with joy

The people left with lands to sere

When all was worse than Troy

And stupid kings to enjoy

The fruits had rot’n, the fields were dry

And still the gold was shining

The prince, unknown of peasants’ cry

And little people whining

Was sound asleep in silk lining

The palace collapsed in just two suns

And gold was never found

The prince was dead with tons

Of bones hidden in the ground

And only dust was seen around



The patient read aloud, trying to interest me in the greatest manner. It was a nice poem. I would give it to Xander to take a look, but I thought he wouldn’t like this. My consciousness seemed to come back as well. But I was still unclear. My soul was left in Tresseron, and once I left I felt that my mind started to tear apart. I had no idea how to cope with the world outside of Tresseron, and I was even doubting if I could continue my job, though I did it for only one day.

The next day I gave a call to the boss about my situation. He told me not to worry, since there were only a few orders that day. I went back to Tresseron, where the flats were bundled together like a piece of waffle, except the crust was not golden, but spread with sour cream. It was a weird combination, but I always ate waffles like that. I bet Xander would hate that though.

I opened the window, and a breeze was coming onto me. A sweet, cool breeze that saved me from the hotness of the room. I looked afar, and saw some thunderclouds near the place I went to work. The sun, though, was sitting beside me. It was a nice day after all.

I lied down on the couch, staring at the blank ceiling. Xander must be working by now, I thought. He must be gone, I thought. And I didn’t faint like last night. Instead the couch was rocking me into a nap. A nap without worries. It was a Tuesday, where the fools in suits were hurrying inside their cages, trying to escape but ended up dropping into it voluntarily. It was a comfortable day.

On the next day, I received a message and a mail from the hospital. The mail was the poem that the patient read to me when I was in hospital.

The patient was dead.

Pollux