Every morning that I wake up is like a… little miracle. I stand up, shake my body, wash my face. A look outside the window reveals the beauty left in this world, the shine of the sun through the other buildings, the shadows of the pipes and cables through them, the game of light and darkness. I see the children playing on the streets, my son beside them. They’re laughing, strolling around and enjoying the day. And when I go outside my room, the most beautiful lady I ever met faces me with a smile, that is honest. The type that warms the heart and just makes you smile as well, making you look like an idiot.

Every noon, there is this little breeze that makes the back tingle and my skin crumble. I hear whistles and smell smoke from the neighbors. The laughter of many children and people outside, but after time they start to fade. The day sets and the sun disappears. I feel this emptiness, although I heard and felt this energy not long ago, I feel like something is missing. I realize that there is something waiting… calling for me, but I can’t see what. I go inside my room and what I saw this morning is gone.

Every evening, it feels like a… little miracle. I see outside the window, watching the flames on the horizon, the little, fast shooting lightnings in between and the roaring thunder afterwards. The smoke on the sky, from burning houses and… whomever lived inside them. I hear the cries of children and people, voices so familiar. The breeze gets stronger and a voice inside my head louder, something is drawing me outside my body. I see pipes between buildings cracked and detonated, with mud and waste flowing out of it, flooding the streets that only yesterday were so beautifully filled with joy, energy and live. People and flowers and animals. I go outside my room again. There I see the most beautiful woman I ever met with a blood-covered face, she is smiling at me, it is honest. The kind of smile, that makes you flinch and almost vomit, that pushes fear in your eyes. Her body is deformed, holes are everywhere. The heart, the lungs, stomach, head. Everywhere are holes. And her arms and legs are made of metal, they screech and make noise anytime they move a little inch. In her cold hand she holds something that looks like the head of a doll. And I don't dare to doubt that belief...

Every night… there is this little breeze. The one that shows me, that I’m still alive and did not kill myself already. It shows me, that any night, with no exceptions, I’m haunted by memories and worries… nightmare after nightmare. I see the beauty I had once, that this world offered once. And now I’m left with a war outside my house and inside my head. An ocean of flames and death. And a future that is as rusty as the piece of metal that covers my hand for three years now.

Every midnight, I just want to die, as everything starts again… and again, while I lay here and wait for the death in form of a bullet piercing through my wasted mind.