A life less than the ordinary, such life are obtained by
one's heart, such heart can be always lost in one's another,
such heart will remain lost, and in a time of lost hopes,
how would this heart be found? It will remain lost for all
times!

Such time when peasants were led to fight for the minor
amount, such minor amount that was needed for their family's
security, such absurd amount, so minor for a life such as
theirs.

But is for a peasant to do? Who own no right, who is only
expected to pay his dues? And if he shall - god forbid-
resist toward this unrighteous regime, and he shall fight
back, than he would be, well, of course executed!
He cannot resist. He cannot fight back. But his children?
Is there any objection for his scions objection? Well than,
of course not!
But what if those scions aren't peasants, than in such
occasions, wouldn't it be adequate?

A boy, non there less, less than the ordinary, A boy which
tried to put together the pieces of his broken heart all of
his life, or, to put thy sentence more correctly, since the
occasion, such occasions which he rather not to mention ever
again, such occasion so hurtful, so intense, so oppressing
that such unity of the heart seems impossible to all who
might witness it. How can anyone cure his own heart? Their
is no way, but one way that can unite, it is not an
implacable way, but it is a way, what is this way? Unknown
way that lies within all, each with his own unique own way.

An Educated boy, indeed, and it could be said that he is
even not a boy! Such boy's (- although it is to say that he
is no boy at all!)
Life were tormented by sufferings that none should witness.
His life is now found as less treacherous, but his memories,
his memories were the only obstacle for his so called happy
life, such life which he hoped for.

He lived life on the road, this is by that that he
apparently hoped that his memories would abandon him and get
lost in the certain city which he got by, and by that the
memories will disappear from his mind for all times, it
wasn't so, and thus, as always, he suffered.
His family fought for his existence and by that their own
existence faded. And in their fading existence he had
witnessed their constant suffering, torturing, and by that
he had witnessed the vicious murder of his parents, his
family, his own, true world, he had witnessed the vicious
murder of his parent's souls.

They gave him their heart, and thus, his own heart became
broken. And by time he knew that it is impossible to repair
it, it is impossible to unite his heart, as it is impossible
to unite him with his family. But he always bore his parents
memory proudly; he will never fail his parents. He always
stood up straight, but his soul, his true color, had always
seemed to fall down.
Such actions killed him, from within his broken heart. He
became bitter; the bitterness had stroke him from within his
heart, his broken heart, and the broken piece, which
contained the memory of his family. But he kept with his
education that his parents bought, bought with their own
souls. And thus became educated by the simple need, not to
fail his parent, in that certain heavenly place where the
fairest of all beings lie.

But know the time have come, a time to face the eternal
fear of his soul. For the life he wished to be lost, is
united with him. And his life, which broke his united heart.
For some it might be sounded as an ironic symbol for the
dangers of life, but for him it is as a labyrinth, which he
hoped to finish. And so, he is united, once more with the
city he hoped to forget, with not any wish for it. And so
his life stage became bitterer, and as the moon shined upon
the water, thought the carriage's window, and lights up the
inner side of the carriage, with its minor light. And so the
life which he ran from, had approached to him, as he
approached the city, his city of birth, the city where his
family, his true life, got vanished throughout thin air, as
if never existed.
As the galloping hoops of the horses slowed down, a light
within his heart laid, the light of memory, a memory of his
family, a painful memory.
He walked down, and as he emerged from the carriage door, he
felt that the light, within his heart, became darker than
ever. His eyes were full of tears, and has his brown hair
flown through his face, disturbing his site even more, he
went; towards the place that destiny brought him too. Such a
weird phenomenon, it is said that a man creates his own job,
and his job goes towards him, as drops to water. But in that
case, he went to a hurtful place due to his job, a
requirement for study, to work in, and the demands that were
brought to him. he was as a sore place in one's beloved
heart, his soul was not obeying his own commends, he saw a
place that was in his mind, memory, in the pieces of his
broken heart, he knew that in some ways, him, entering this
place might be the biggest mistake that he ever committed,
as a sin of his mortal soul, but his face, who bores a color
of such paleness, that he might be mistaken as a ghost, such
faces stare was focused in this unbearable building, on this
memorial absence of his life, on his half wrecked house, his
past presence house, the place which in he bared the
unbearable pain of his true absence, his driver, which
within this long drive became as a close friend, a minor
companion, if one might call it so, looked towards the
wrecked house, as he saw him walking towards it, he followed
him.
He entered the ruins of his soul, as the broken particles
of his heart, and felt as if he stepped to the inner sight
of his soul, his heart. A strange feeling flooded his heart
as he saw his driver entering, and the only part which he
could say was swallowed into tears, he couldn't make a
single utterance, his pain unbearable, and in that single
moment he jus wept, through all his soul, through the power
of his heart, any thing one might say bout it, might be
through, because he felt released, as if heart's burden was
now released, he saw the driver going towards him, and a
friend, hugging him, through his tears, he fell, on the
floor, as the burden fell from his heart, and wept in a
puddle of his own heart, the driver noticed his shaking
hand, and couldn't help himself from saying something, the
disturbed the silence, to create an utterance, he bent, to
be within his eye level, and spoke:" What is it to you
Christian?  This ruined residence? It is a trip of business,
is it not" but, though quite sudden, a tear could be seen on
his chick as well, he, as a man speechless, crying on the
stone floor, shameless, could not explain, for his power
faded, he could only cry, he felt as if something was
clutching his heart, and for it to be removed he must say
something, and as his tears fell on the floor, he said,
silently, but yet clear, " this was my past" the driver
didn't quite understand, as he did not knew his past, but by
his tears he knew that he had a miserable life. And he
stayed there, with him for another moment, near his weeping
soul.

The driver, left him, and galloped back to his city - his
family, and he, was alone, he stayed in a room which he
rented, alone, with his unbearable memories, and those
memories hunted him once more, his parents, the life they
sacrificed, so that their boy could be what he is now, but
he is now bitter, his soul is bitter, his heart, his life
would be much better if he had his family, for they belong
together as every family belongs together, and his heart
would always remain broken, for he needs them. he walked on
the river, as his mother called it, the river of change, for
in every time an entity is bathing in it, a certain part of
it changes, and than, on fool moon's nights, the bathing in
it can release all the bitterness and anger in one's soul (
which she called as the impure dirt, black water), and fill
it with the pure dew of the heart, and as his consciousness
asked for, he looked at the moon, in hidden hope, but it was
not fool, and as he gazed at the sky, he felt the bitter
pain clutching his heart, a pain of his soul, and secretly
hoped that this stage is for his own benefits, but his
heart, as a gazing absence which flies above his true life,
fell, down into the abyss, his abyss of distress, pain. And
though trying to express so in words, it is just not
possible, not true, for this distress, his true existence,
is, for him, lost. And as he walked on the bridge, gazing at
the immortal light of the moon reflected on the river, he
wanted to jump, to break his absence as breaking the
transparency of the water, of the moon's light reflecting
the water, but he knew that nothing, no absence, or broken
absence, will please, him, and he remembered his parents,
his family, his distress, and thus remembered the sacrifice,
and such pure sacrifice, shouldn't be recalled, and so he
walked towards his rented residence, and hoped for a clear
sleep.

He hoped for a decent life, a form of good, which he might
be excused as a form of greatness, but that mere thought, as
common as it might be in his own mind, never left his head.
And so he was left, as a cold sunken stone. Bearing the
comfortable touch of his sheets, as fire, and being
discussed by it, as if it was something unbearable to touch,
unbearable to clutch, unbearable, for his soul. His dear
hope for a clear sleep was a false hope, but he knew its
existence. But at night, as he suspected it to be, he was
hunted by his past, memories, unbearable for him to bear. He
felt as if his plans were broken, that the head he tried for
so long to raise, for the memory of his parents, could not
be raised. He wished to quit, from that hazardous
occupation, which dragged him to this terrible town, which
was, for him, a ghost town.
 Has he noticed a light, on the coldness of the night, and
as it hit the window, he knew that it was morning, the time
for him to regain his sanity - sunrise, for the power of
life, his life. But his power had ceased its existence. He
rose and bore the hot, yet cold light, hits his face and
knew that he must act, for such light can be a sign for only
one bitter moment, a moment to forget, though he knew he
wasn't able to do so, and so, he went abroad the thin line
that connected between his true mind and insanity.

 He crossed the thin line between what he knew as a
sidewalk, and what one might recognize as a road, and as a
chariot went by, he bore the coldness of night.
 Though he was known of this place, it was still quite
strange for him, for he knew that such place could be known
as none other than a place of tragedy.  He took off his hat
for a minor moment and shook it. When  he moved his arm in
purpose of cleaning the hat but than noticed a known person
across the street, he walked towards the coffee shop, such a
nobleman shop, though, for that reason he had a slight doubt
of him belonging there, for the last time he was inside that
place, was in a figure of a poor boy, gathering money in a
hat similar to that that he had in his arms, though slight
hesitation went through his veins as he saw the woman, he
went towards her, put his hat upon her table.
She bore a cold face, with wrinkles that could be seen in
any eye, even far as ten feet from her, her jaw was tough,
and her hair was raised backwards with two bird shaped pins,
as he looked through her eyes he new that she new him, as
suddenly a smile lit her stiff face into a bright aura, as
if she turned to a nicer person as she was seen to be.
"Christian, is it not your name, I must admit that as first
now as I saw you, I doubted your identity, tell me boy, what
are you doing back in the town of your birth" he was
surprised, extremely surprised, as a pen could write all the
mixed emotion he had in that particular moment, in the end,
its ink would be over. Though he new she noticed his
surprised look he replied through a shattered reply, polite
though, to show of a good education, to indicate of him
being an educated boy, and perhaps, in seek of answers for
question not in a meaning to be asked. "I might know you,
though I cannot remember, but I recon that you know me,
though it is not obvious why, would you kindly, please
madam, note your identity" so, as a smile being ignorantly
considered as a reply for poor Christian, she spoke and
surprised he near expectation. " I see that your education
was important enough for your parents,  and look, they were
right, you have grown to an intellectual, I thought you
well" "I", it echoed in his ears, eye, he searched his mind
for answer for the identity hidden behind the eyes. "Madam
Bonvered?" He asked, clearly uncertain of his answer. And
she smiled as what was now, as an obvious reply. "Indeed, my
boy, sit down next to me, I wish to here all about your
life. What happened to the little boy? Just not long from
now I remembered the incident, such unfortunate incident,
well, uncommonly, I wish to hear all about you now" and so
it came to pass, that the two sat, discussing through the
minute, and hours, as the rain fell upon the coffee shop's
windows