Wolfram Souls - Part 1
Awaken by the flow of live, in fragile bodies
Dim light is born.
People like light bulbs.
His name was different, but he used to call himself Mark. To the core of his soul, he was a child of great cities, a metropolises wanderer in their decline. He lived in cellars and expensive apartments, got drunk in the barns and tasted cocktails at the top-restaurants, enjoyed poor and rich ladies, beautiful and not women and men, spent in the evening tens of thousands to see a new morning in the garbage dump. And when he got bored, he bought another ring with a shiny pebble, grabbed a bottle of cheap wine in a supermarket, and went to visit his sister, handing his modest presents and asking for a night out.
Maybe she was the only person on the earth who he loved in his own way.
That morning, too gloomy and too early for visits, he arrived sitting in a taxi. It was raining, the city was drowning in the rivers. He quickly jumped up to the entrance, wiped off the burning drops from his face and, climbing the last floor, and delicately knocking on the door. There were no answer. Then he knocked again. And again. Calling the telephone number - the operator assured that the subscriber is out of reach. After one hour of waiting, Mark took out a duplicate of keys from his pocket and went into an empty apartment.
In the kitchen whispered radio and on the table was a cup of unfinished coffee. The fridge was covered with flies and notes.
He went further.
In the room there was a familiar home disorder. A half-empty closet, a bunch of beautiful clothes on the couch - Mark could have betrayed that Shira had measured him all the same, dissatisfied with dropping dresses and fashionable blouses, and again went to the hollowed jeans and some of his awkward sweaters. But where did she go? It was not in her habits - not to sleep at home.
And he felt that something was wrong.
Mark again walked through the apartment, hoping to find some kind of hint. In the end, his gaze jumped over the crumpled colored paper in the trash.
"club "Reactor"... a crazy rhythm from dusk to dawn... the entrance with the flyer is free.", he read.
Could his modest, melancholic sister have the courage to wander around the clubs?
All this looked very, very strange.
Mark made a coffee for himself. Then he sucked on the couch and smothered cigarettes one after another. Then he hid a piece of paper in his pocket, calling a taxi and ordering to take him to the "Reactor".
